Error of Soul
by Materia-Blade
Summary: OOtP Mid Year. Every now and then throughout wizarding history, a pair of individuals very close to one another find that their magic has grown fond of one another's. A bond is formed. A Soul Bond. And may hell burn the idiot who ever thought having one was a 'good' thing! A Soul Bond story done 'right.' No bashing. A Harry and Hermione love and war story.
1. Too Close

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter ain't no creation o' mine ya hear?

**Writer's Request: **I'm in heavy need of prereaders and have been for quite some time. If anyone out there is willing, bored, and interested enough to be my sounding board for ideas for this fic and or any others that I write, it would be highly appreciated. Feel free to PM me.

**Notice: **I don't bash. I don't _do bashing. _Characters will be portrayed to the best of my ability as canon to start with.

**Forward: **Whilst reading in the Harry Potter section I've recently come across a whole slew of Soul Bond stories, each of which sucked a little bit worse than the last. I've taken a page out of Ozzallos's book. Rampant and uncensored Weasley and Dumbledore bashing roamed the stories with reckless abandon and I thought to myself: Hot damn I could do that better.

I'm not going to lie. The soul bond idea DOES intrigue me. Always has really. But everyone seems to think that any couple paired in a soul bond will suddenly never have ill thoughts about their new significant other, and instead will feel perfect love for them without the slightest need for character development. People often forget that Harry found himself annoyed with Hermione's work-ethic as much as Ron did.

Worse. These are puberty age to nearly grown adults. If that's the case then Harry has been replaced with a robot, or worse his actual character and personality have been overwritten by magic itself which in my opinion is tantamount to rape of the highest order.

Realism. _That is what I want from my soul bond fics. _If you and your respective other could hear ALL of each other's thoughts? My god you'd hate each other in a week!

Boy: "BOOBS!"  
Girl: "SHOES!"  
Boy: "BOOBS!  
Girl "CLOTHES!"  
Boy: "VIDEOGAMES!"  
Girl: CHOCOLATE!  
Boy: "SPORTS!"  
Girl: "BOYS!"

And that's just the stereotypes! HP has some complicated characters in it. Can you imagine how irritated Harry would get listening to Hermione thinking her way through arithmancy with no clue what she was actually thinking about? Worse the jealousy when she finds another boy attractive? On the flipside Harry's fifteen. Boobs up there is perfectly accurate. Can you imagine how hurt Hermione might be if her soul is intrinsically bound to his and yet he can't stop thinking about dating a fifth year he barely knows?

Can you imagine? Well, now you don't have to. This is my take on the soul bond idea of magic.

Also... sorry... I'm a bit bored with just Harry Potter... so Im probably going to pepper this story with loads of Cameos. I think I'll go for creepy, but its been far too long since I've delved back into that wondrous realm of epic. So... without further adieu:

_Cheerio! All sails cast into the wind, and full speed down into the mire of love and hate!_

* * *

**Error of Soul**

* * *

"_Ah. Well. Yes, Harry. Deep Magic lies in PMS. Meddle not in the affairs of the monthlies for you are feeble and easily crushed."  
- Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

"Harry Potter." The busy elder woman intoned gravely as the boy entered her wing for what must have been the thousandth time. She sighed, shaking her head with not a little worry. For once though, the boy was at least entering by his own will on his own two feet. That in itself was a rare occurrence and his easy smile did a lot to assuage the worry that entered her heart almost every time she saw the boy.

"What is it this time, Potter?" She asked injecting a bit of humor. "Basilisk venom again? Perhaps improper use of Polyjuice? Stray bludgers? Maybe a dragon's claws, or perhaps grindylows?"

Potter laughed. That was his way though. Potter laughed easy and forgot easy. She'd never spoken more to a single student in all her career, at least not without taking them on as an apprentice first, and she found that Harry was very easy to like. Despite all that happened to him and all his troubles it was rare to find him complaining. Of course Umbridge was grating on him and he had taken to brooding a bit more than in previous years but she thought that was understandable. The entire world seemed to be against him and he weathered it like an oak.

Still, something nagged at her. Probably out of habit, but every time she found him lying in one of her stretchers she couldn't help but expect to find _this was the day_ that he turned out to be unsavable. That all her medicine and spellwork would finally fail, and the wizarding world would lose the hero that this boy had become in the few years she'd known him.

"No Madam Pomfrey," he replied, the levity leaving his voice. "Actually, I think I'm here for just a normal old fever. I've been feeling a bit... strange lately."

Madam Pomfrey quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? Well, sit down and tell me what's wrong."

Invading his personal space without a second thought she placed her hand on his forehead in the age old method of quickly measuring him for fever and she found he did indeed have a bit of a temperature. Her hand came away a bit sweaty and slightly warmer than she would've expected considering the chill of winter's bite that was gnawing away at the castle outside.

She led him over to a seat by one of the room's tall stone windows and they both sat at a pair of chairs that had been left there for more normal students. Pomfrey found herself dealing more with joke candy reversal than any actual illness and she usually enjoyed sitting in the sunshine spilling in from the window.

Come to think of it, she didn't think Harry had _ever_ sat in the plush brown chair he now lounged in.

"Well it hasn't just started today," he started a bit embarrassedly, once he'd gotten settled.

"No it wouldn't have. Anything that can willingly get you to walk in here would have to be dire indeed," the healer said with a ghost of a smile.

"Wasn't willing..." The boy muttered. "Stupid Ron, and stupid Hermione made me. I think I'm fine. Just a case of the flu, it'll be gone before friday. But they both insisted when I... well I vomited."

Madam Pomfrey's analytical mind pulled relevant factors out of that statement like a vulture.

_Flu. Mainly a muggle sickness though younger wizarding children could catch it. Not Harry, or any of the students at Hogwarts for that matter though. Wizards were immune to that sickness after their first use of accidental magic. Still, Flu like symptoms. Vomiting. Probable nausea. Fever. Possible Wizard equivalent diseases: Moxyetly. Mage's Cough. Teruel. God I hope it isn't the last one. Worst case scenario: Teruel. Course of action? Question about chills and other relevant similarities._

"Wizards are immune to the flu Harry. Tell me have you been feeling any chills?" she asked succinctly.

"We are?" Harry questioned, but then shook himself and focused. "No... er well... yes sort of. Its... hard to explain."

Madam Pomfrey gestured with a wrinkled hand for the young boy to continue. Whatever problem the boy had, she would help.

"I keep feeling like... someone is... touching me."

Poppy's eyes bulged.

"No, no!" He placated her instantly catching where his words had led her thoughts and quelling them before she could worry. "Nothing like _that. _Just light little touches on my shoulder or chest or even my fingers. Mostly my fingers, in fact. Kind of like a ghost was creeping up on me and laying a hand on my shoulder or something like that. It doesn't hurt; its just odd."

Pomfrey quirked her eyebrow. "This sounds like a prank. Has someone been taking your invisibility cloak?"

"You _know about my cloak!?" _he squeaked, his real problem already forgotten.

The old witch face lit with mirth. "Boy, I healed your father after every one of his late night misadventures and you think I wouldn't've keyed in on a little thing like that?"

Harry flushed a bit. "Err... sorry. I didn't really think about it."

"You still haven't answered. Has anyone been taking your cloak?" the woman asked, dropping the humor in favor of a more serious tone.

"No." He answered with absolute certainty. "Definitely not. Its locked away with my things and Ron wouldn't dare touch it for a prank. No one else knows about it."

Poppy Pomfrey turned introspective once more. A prank wouldn't explain the fever anyway so _something _was definitely wrong with him.

"How long has this been happening to you, Harry?" she asked calmly.

Harry thought about it for a moment before he shrugged. "Probably about three days ago is when it first started. I'm not really sure when but that was when the touches started. They're particularly bad in the morning. It feels like someone is trying to pull my hair out! They're almost constant on my fingers, also. But the nausea and the sickness didn't start until today."

She filed that away. She didn't really learn anything new from it but it might be relevant later. "Mister Potter, I'm going to cast a diagnostic spell on you, if I may have your permission?"

"You need my permission?" the boy asked with surprise, causing the healer to sigh.

Right. He'd never been here before under _normal _circumstances.

"Without significant risk to life or limb it is against not only Hogwarts Policy but Ministry Law to perform a diagnostic spell on another person without permission. The sentence isn't anything as hefty as Azkaban but I'd rather avoid the rather steep fine that I could be charged, if I did not ask."

Incredulously the boy sputtered with a well humored grin. It was rather funny. Asking him permission _now _when she'd used the spell on him so many times already. "Go ahead Madam."

She nodded and drew her wand, flicking it with casual grace that emphasized her years of experience. Feelings began to seep into her. Pulse, good, that sounded right. Lungs normal, no clogs. Breathing regular. Her eyes sought for the lighted blue indicators that would be present on the boy's arms if he had something like Mage's Cough or Moxyetly but none appeared. Okay, perhaps a poison? Scrounging lower she examined the results the diagnosis spell spewed forth that were related to his food intake but again found nothing abnormal.

Something was very odd here._  
**  
Chapter One  
Too Close**_

Poppy dug a little closer into the mental paper print that seemed to be reeling through her mind and found to her surprise that as far as the spell was concerned Harry Potter was sitting at a healthy 98.7 degrees. She felt his forehead again and noted that it was still quite hot to the touch, yet for some reason the diagnostic spell didn't even show that he _had a_ fever.

'_Everything always has to be unusual with you, doesn't it Harry Potter?' _She thought dejectedly.

"I'm sorry Harry," she said dejectedly. "From this diagnostic you are the picture of health. I'll have to try something deeper. Would it be alright if I pricked your finger? A spec of blood is needed for this."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You will destroy it after and I will watch."

His tone brooked no argument, and Madam Pomfrey found herself startled by his sudden complete seriousness. Then she remembered the Quibbler and its rather detailed interview about the resurrection of Voldemort last year. Yes. He would be antsy about his blood.

"As you wish." She replied and pulled out a needle. He held out his hand, suddenly a bit timid and probably a bit ashamed of his harsh tone but she paid it no mind. Before he could even flinch she pricked his index finger with a needle. He flinched but said nothing to show discomfort.

"It'll be just a moment now." She replied as she took the blood spec and laid it on a sheet of glass atop her desk. Her wand sizzled and a few complicated spells crossed her tongue as she began to hunt for the source of Harry's problem.

The Drixyer Inquiry spell produced no results. As did Havals Divination. Spell after spell after more complex spell found that the blood was in perfect if not better than perfect state. The Phoenix Tears that had healed Harry those years ago had done more for him than he would realize for a long time.

A sort of cold sweat had formed on Madam Pomfrey's own brow after the ninth diagnostic attempt and failure to discern Harry's problem, and she was just about to give up. Harry, who had been waiting patiently up until now, stood. "Ma'am if its alright with you I think I'll go lie down in the dorm for a while. Professor Flitwick told me that I was to have the day and I think I might..." He trailed off and clutched at his stomach as a daze seemed to creep over him. "...might take him up on it." He finished weakly.

Irritated she nodded. "I'll destroy this now... I suppose this is another affliction of yours that we will have to simply put up to _that," _she said, pointing an angry finger at his scar. "I'll give you some fever killers and a Draughts of Drowsiness to help you rest."

"Thank you Ma'am." He said politely, though she watched his hand fall to the back of the chair and rest there a bit strongly. He truly did look a wreck.

Suddenly a thought came to her. One last diagnostic spell. Croverwell's. Honestly she should've tried it before. It would be like Harry to contract a malady that was completely magical in nature, but she'd only checked for the common biological ones. Children were _still_ coming in with the Creepers Bug that Dementors left floating about wherever they went. Ruddy ministry. Dementors... in a school! Mental!

But she turned her thoughts back to the spell.

"Allow me one more attempt, Harry, if you please?"

He made a gesture as if to say 'be my guest,' but he truly did look tired. If this didn't work she would send him away.

She cast the spell and a golden light flashed from the tip of her wand, enveloping the blood sample as it did. The blood sparkled for a moment and then the light faded, slithering into the blood like a sort of worm crawling into a hole. After a full thirty seconds the spell faded.

'_Nothing?' _thought the professor wearily. _'I was almost certain that something would happen...' _

"Hmm. I suppose not..." She thought idly. "I'll will attempt another array of diagnostic spells after you've had a bit of rest. For once however, I don't feel like I need to confine you to the ward you loathe so much."

At those words the boy seemed to literally light up. He would, too. Every time he seemed to end up in her ward, he had to stay for an inordinate amount of time, bored out of his mind. It was no wonder that he was so happy to find her letting him go.

"Sorry. It's nothing against you Madam Pomfrey but..."

She waved him away with a happy hand. "Oh stop my boy, no need to fret. After the things that usually end up putting you in here I sometimes wonder why Dumbledore doesn't just hire a personal healer to follow you around like a bat. I'm sure they would be an expert healer in a week!"

Harry gave a grin and stood. "That they might professor."

Madam Pomfrey bustled in her usual way about the room, efficiently grabbing a veritable care package of potions and tinctures for the boy to take, and then proffered them to him.

"One of the red each day at this time. Go ahead and drink it down now. Take the green _only_ if your fever becomes unbearable. The lighter green is Draught of Drowsiness, and should help you get your rest. If you're feeling better in the morning then you may attend class but _only_ if you are. Otherwise you are confined to your quarters. If I see you in here tomorrow for pushing yourself when you are sick then I'll be sure to keep you here."

The boy nodded earnestly and took the vials with a grin of near joy. That grin assuaged the old healer's worries a bit. Perhaps the boy had found a nifty little spell to make him appear to have a fever and was simply trying to skiv off classes? Well... if he had been any other boy, Poppy might've believed that.

But Harry?

No. With Harry Potter you could always bet that something was wrong.

Oh how she wished though as the boy left her office with a wave. How she wished that maybe he _would try._ It would be a much needed bit of normalcy that Harry Potter had never had. It would assure _her_ that he wouldn't be lost... forever lost to the great burdens that lay before, and behind him.

Unbeknownst to the healer, if she had waited but a few more moments before destroying the blood, the red speck would've glowed a neon blue.

* * *

Hermione Granger was pragmatically cataloguing the effects of a Temperoot potion and idly comparing them to Sir Edward Finan's notes on the ingredients. Several disparities existed due to the fact that Finan hadn't been around since the eighteen hundreds and Temperoot was a relatively new potion, but Finan had been a leading expert in herbology and potion making.

The thing Ron would never understand, that Harry would never understand, that _no one_ would ever understand was that she _enjoyed it._ Her studies, while often dedicated to the pursuit of self advancement, were sometimes of a completely trivial nature. Mundane things like learning about a potion created recently and happily discovering that the potion had _actually _existed almost two hundred years ago was a veritable treat for the young girl's mind.

Temperoot was used to massage the gums of teeth and assuage toothaches. It wasn't a bad tasting potion either. But go back two hundred years and Hermione found that Finan had come up with the exact same potion, then called Dermitine, but had instead added cooking grease to thicken it and marketed it as a skin cream.

Reading the ingredients list she found it to be surprisingly effective with either use, unless she missed her guess entirely.

'_Wonderful!' _She thought with a childish sense of glee. There was no goal in mind with this, no aspiration, just a wonderful sense of accomplishment. Mindless, useless knowledge but Hermione Granger treasured it. All of it. Every new thing, every connection, every snippet filed away and cross referenced to find patterns and connections that simply made her glow.

She didn't know why. Other people didn't enjoy things like this. They liked quidditch or fawned over the opposite sex, or sought power and wealth. Or immortality... she shuddered but then returned her thoughts to her own vice. Hermione Granger... she fawned over books.

That wasn't to say she didn't have a healthy appreciation for the opposite sex herself but she fancied her books on at _least_ the same level.

Idly her mind wandered to a childish little daydream she had about kissing a certain redhead atop a bed that was simply covered in HIS study notes. A timid little shudder ran down the back of her spine at that thought, and she cast it away before it grew too bothersome to ignore.

Today felt like a day for laziness. Winter laid heavy on the land and classes for the afternoon had ended half an hour gone, Flitwick's Charms class being last. She spared a moment of worry for Harry who both she and Ron had felt needed to go to the infirmary after vomiting up his lunch the day before. He had remained confined in his room and Ron had informed her that he was doing better but still felt a bit ill.

She herself felt queasy as well but that had been entirely different. She'd been paired with Neville yesterday in potions and despite his rather extraordinary advances in spellcasting during the DA meetings, he still hadn't quite managed to take that new found bravery into his potion making.

Hermione had been the drinker and she hadn't felt right since. The potion was supposed to be used to give a person temporary musical aptitude, and surprisingly Snape seemed almost happy when instructing the class today. Unfortunately Neville's potion had failed and Hermione had walked away with was a stomach-ache and a dreadful ringing in her ears that no one else could hear. Luckily that had faded quickly but the stomach ache and nausea still plagued her. She'd so been looking forward to having the ability to play a saxophone too...

Professor Snape had assured her that the potion wouldn't be dangerous. But had written a quick scrit with his usual scowl that offered her a get out of class free card should she need it. She didn't, but the thought was nice. The old bat really wasn't _always_ terrible. Just most of the time.

Without warning a sudden pressure alighted on her forehead. Warm, it felt almost as if a person's hand were pressed there. Just as suddenly the ghost touch left and she was shocked by the sudden influx of cool air. She blew a hair out of her face idly and tried to ignore the strange feeling, but it was becoming harder and harder to do.

Over the past three days or so these strange touches had been occurring more and more often. Strange though they were, almost none of them were unpleasant. Her neck would start to itch and then suddenly the strangest sensation of scratching would occur and the itch would be gone. Her arms would feel cold after a quick walk outside to get to another part of the castle and then the sensation of hands massaging them would send a flash of warmth to her.

Obviously, the first place she went to figure out what the hell was happening to her, was books. And for once, books had failed her. Pouring through the library on maladies and curses or jinxes that might cause such a sensation, she found herself coming up empty. But it wasn't as if she'd read all of them. So she continued looking. Potions perhaps? Maybe someone had sabotaged her pumpkin juice?

And this book was where her search had actually led her. Finding Finan's potion from her historical biography and matching it to Temperoot had been a pleasant distraction but that warm touch on her forehead brought her back to the problem at hand.

At first she wasn't even sure if she'd actually been feeling anything at all. A finger might touch her and she'd turn but find no one there, or a strange feeling of 'adjusting' something near her face left her almost certain that someone had crept up behind her and placed a pair of glasses on her. But no. Nothing.

As the first day became the second, they became a bit more pronounced. The touches were mostly pleasant, indeed. Some... were a bit _too_ pleasant. Feather light touches on areas that definitely were _not_ proper occasionally snatched her breath, sometimes even mid sentence! They never felt as if they were truly intentional. Much like a ghost that happened to be tethered to her might accidentally brush against her. And she would be lying if she didn't admit those few touches had sparked several decidedly naughty dreams. But it was becoming a bother and whatever it was had to stop.

She flipped a page and found herself learning about Manald potion, which was used primarily to lessen the pain of severe skid wounds usually found on Quidditch players. All the potions in this particular book had the common ingredient of Newt Toes which were particularly potent in lessening or enhancing a person's ability to _feel. _While at first she'd thought the idea made sense, now she was starting to feel like it was less likely.

'_This definitely isn't it... I'm getting nowhere,' _thought the brunette with a huff. Snapping the potions book closed she threw her feet over the side of her bed and picked up her wand.

'_This is going to be a bit... odd. How often does Madam Pomfrey get a visitor who claims to be feeling _too good?'

She stood up and gingerly placed the litter of books scattered about her bed upon the bedside table began to walk to the door.

"Going out?" Lavender asked casually without looking up from what appeared to be divination homework. Hermione would've snorted mentally at that but at least she was _doing_ it. Getting Harry Potter or Ronald Weasley to even get that far was maddening so she couldn't begrudge the girl her waste of time.

Much.

"Yes... I'm going to see Madam Pomfrey."

At this the girl looked up from her homework with a bit of worry. "Feeling under the weather? Probably the Vice Chills I reckon."

She paused for a moment as if thinking her decision over while Hermione tried to devise an answer to that. Whatever she was feeling she was quite certain it _wasn't_ the vice chills. "Want company?" the girl injected before Hermione could speak. "I'll walk you down there if you like?"

Hermione wouldn't ever admit it aloud but she was a little bit touched by that. The girl willing to drop her homework to aid an acquaintance if not a friend. Then Hermione berated herself. _'She's not _like_ you. She's probably offering to come _because_ of her homework, silly! She wants to get _away_ from it!' _

Even so the gesture did still make her feel a small burst of affection for her roommate of near five years now. "Yes please, if its not too much trouble."

"Not at all." She replied as she stood and put away her own books.

The pair of girls left the room slowly, Lavender not prodding for any information from Hermione on her 'illness' and Hermione feeling little need to chat with the other girl. It was a companionable silence that led them down the winding corridors of Hogwarts.

Of course, silence was a rare thing to keep and even easier to break in this castle. Turning around a corner, Lavender stumbled straight into a tall boy's form and plummeted to the ground. The boy, for his part, stumbled a bit.

"S-sor... Oh. You." Lavender deadpanned.

"Watch where you're going you little bug." Draco Malfoy's snakelike sneer slid across the hallway's cold stone like an eraser sliding over a chalkboard. Smooth. Foul. Unbearably predictable. It was as if the boy had absolutely no emotion other than arrogance. Well. That wasn't true. He had _fear_ as well. Hermione's mood darkened almost instantly at the sight of the leader of Umbridge's little _squad, _but the reminder brought up several humorous memories of punching the boy in the face and watching him be turned into a ferret.

"And you apologize. Or do they not have _manners_ in pureblood society?" She hissed.

"Like I would apologize to a Gryffindor. I'm in a hurry, Granger. Tell your friend to watch her step." He replied though for once Hermione could tell his heart wasn't truly in the insults as he swept around the pair of girls and down the hallway. Oddly enough, his ever present flunkies Crabbe and Goyle were _not_ present. Strange. But unimportant.

In retrospect Hermione was glad the ferret had for once not given her much trouble. Normally he seemed to derive a perverse sort of pleasure in antagonizing her and her friends. She turned to Lavender who was still sitting on the ground and offered a hand up. Lavender accepted the proffered hand with a smile and soon the two of them were on their way once again.

"I wonder what he was in such a rush for. Its not like him to be without his goons." Lavender commented idly, unknowingly mimicking Hermione's own thought from moments before.

"Probably something fiendish, knowing Malfoy." Hermione replied absently.

"What do you think he...?" Lavender began but Hermione lost the girl's next few words in a flush of feeling. Something was touching her thigh. Something that _wasn't there_. It started low, on the inner side of her right leg and trailed up the inside. Somehow she could tell the touch wasn't malignant, as pleasure flooded her mind for a few seconds. The touch fled after that, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She couldn't stop the rather needy little mewl that escaped her lips at the disappearance, causing Lavender to arch her eyebrow and wink suggestively.

"Hey, if he's your type..." The girl said with a mischievous grin.

Hermione glared. "Not... not that. Not him... _ever._" Were the words she managed to get out. Any and all pleasure washed away immediately at the thought that Draco might be causing this. She shuddered. Whatever this was, she truly hoped the ponce had nothing to do with it.

Lavender breathed a bittersweet giggle. "Well that's good. I guess... one of these days though Granger, I'm going to find out who it is you fancy."

'_That's easy,' _Hermione thought with a grin as Ron's easy smile came to mind. Of course that was followed by the myriad of flaws the boy carried around with him. _Still. _She couldn't really help it. A person couldn't help who they liked, and who they didn't. It was simply nature. It was as natural as breathing to enjoy Ron's company, and fighting with him might be the only thing _more_ natural. She sometimes thought that was what she'd grown to like about him. That passionate defense of his position, even when he was unutterably _wrong. _

The two girls continued down the hallways until they both reached Madam Pomfrey's ward and stopped at the entrance. Lavender shot the girl a warm smile, and said, "Hope you're feeling better soon. Never good to be sick with Christmas so close and all."

With that the girl continued down the hallway leaving Hermione to reflect on the other girl's willingness to show support. Well wishing but distant, and still unwilling to pry into her personal business. That was just Lavender's way after all. She was a flirt and if her conversations with Fay and Parvarti were anything to go by a bit of a pervert as well, but she was a good friend when it counted.

Hermione resolved to try and get a little closer to the girl. Just... not so close that she ended up wasting precious book-reading time with frivolous things like make-up.

She stepped into Madam Pomfrey's office and found the woman there tending to a bandaged Gregory Goyle who appeared to have hurt his arm somehow. Well that explained Draco's unusual countenance. It appeared he could care for things. Not really all that different from them. Just racist and bigoted was all.

The look of relief on Madam Pomfrey's face when she saw Hermione was actually a bit of a shock. The woman gave the brunette no time to think on it though as she pointed immediately to a pitcher of some sort of vaguely clear liquid sitting on her desk.

"Hermione, be a dear and fetch me that pitcher would you? I'll be with you in just a moment. I'm almost done here," the elder woman said with tired sigh. Her hands worked with bandages unbinding them quickly as apparently whatever she had done to it had been finished.

Goyle glared at Hermione as she approached but she didn't deign to give him a response either in her expression or with her voice. Instead she handed the pitcher gingerly to the older woman and watched as she poured small bits of it into a vial. Or rather, she cast a spell at it and let the pitcher do the pouring itself.

Stirring the vial a little she finished her work and placed the potion into Goyle's good hand.

"Now run along. It'll hurt a bit tonight but it should be just fine by morning," Poppy said with a clipped tone.

Grateful, Goyle gave the woman a wide smile. "Thank you Madam Pomfrey."

It was this particular smile of Goyle's that made him one of the people that Hermione _loathed. _She disliked the Weasley twins a bit for their recklessness but she never considered them without wit or the knowledge to know when they might be going just a tad too far. She disliked _Neville_ on occasion but that was diluted by the fact that she could always see the genuine effort the boy put into relieving himself of his own sometimes clueless demeanor. Draco, she hated. That much was obvious but even she could see a modicum of intelligence behind his germanic features. But what the girl really hated, absolutely could not _stand _was the pure and utter lack of intelligence or effort to gain it that Gregory Goyle expressed on a daily explained her well kept utter loathing of the boy and his wide, vacant smile; he was the antithesis of everything she believed in. Stupidity and single-minded devotion.

Or at least that was what her opinion of him was. She'd only spoken to the boy perhaps twice in her life, partially because he let Draco do all his talking for him.

"Now dear, what's happened?" The elderly medical witch asked with a pleasant grin.

Feeling somewhat betrayed by the fact that this woman would be willing to heal such a waste of human matter like _Goyle, _she decided that she didn't actually need the woman's help after all. So she admitted a truth. Just not the one she had come to ask about.

"Ma'am, I've been feeling a bit nauseous ever since I drank one of Neville's potions yesterday."

The woman gave a simple sigh, eyes raised to the heavens, followed by an annoyed, _'That boy..." _under her breath before turning back to Hermione.

The bushy haired girl almost giggled at sight of the woman trying to keep her professional attitude in light of Neville's habit of sending people to her office for partnering with him in potions. It had been like that since first year and this was not the first time Hermione had been in the office for it. Any of the Gryffindors in their year for that matter.

Except Harry of course. Harry never went to the infirmary for _normal _reasons.

Seamus made things explode. Harry saved the world. And Neville botched up potions. It was just the way of things.

Hermione didn't mention the touches, even as another particularly jarring one rolled down her arm, followed by another sliding up the back of her head. She would figure this out on her own. Luckily the potions Madam Pomfrey provided _did_ relieve the effects of Neville's concoction quite nicely.

* * *

Harry wasn't the type of person to skip out on things, even if he _could_ avoid them. Not really anyway. He had rather prudently chosen to skip classes this morning, though, for what he felt was a _very _good reason. If he hadn't have done so, then he might very well have ended up sitting in the hospital wing twiddling his thumbs. A very real horror to be sure, as boredom was worse than even Umbridge's detentions. Unfortunately he had been in pain so he couldn't properly enjoy the day off. That nauseous feeling of his stomach nearly might affect him during the day and he refused to end up tethered to a bed like an invalid if he could avoid it.

However there was something important this evening that had been planned for a little while now. Something that he couldn't simply skip like classes, because frankly he ran it. Dumbledore's Army. Well, more accurately the Defense Association but Dumbledore's Army was what they had all begun to call it. By choice or chance that name was sticking far better than Hermione's PG adaptation and frankly Harry loved it that way. Each meeting brought a little bit more happiness to him, and each properly thrown hex made him feel just that little bit more confident that he was making a real difference.

Voldemort was back and no one believed him. The Minister could sit on his pedestal claiming Harry was a lunatic but the boy-who-lived knew Fudge would have to answer up to this mistake in due time. It was just that wait that was killing him. And the rest of the wizarding world for that matter.

The only benefit, the only real relief he had from the stress of once again being unanimously hated by most of the school, was that when he taught Dumbledore's army, he felt like he mattered. Like he was truly doing something to help, and that meant more than any ruddy classes.

So here he was, despite the worrisome possibility that he might keel over at any time due to this unbearable sickness that still hadn't left. Sitting in a plush chair and very cozily munching upon a buttered biscuit and tea, he watched as his class dueled.

"Sharper wand movements there Luna. That spell is a cut, you're being too lucid. Grip the wand tighter and cut harsher as if you're slicing paper," he coached the blond girl dueling with one of the Weasley twins.

Luna ducked an incoming jellylegs jinx and returned fire with the blinding spell that she was trying to master. _"Abiurspectus!"_ The girl cried, her wand cutting through the air from left to right, stopping hard. The spell released as the wand fell down and Harry was happy to note that it looked perfect. A wave of black that sliced through the air like a thrown wave, it was an impressive curse. If it managed to nick an enemy in the foot it would still blind them. Greater still, the spell ricocheted off most solid objects so you could bounce it off a wall at an opponent.

Unfortunately for Luna, _Protego_ deflected it as well and the Weasley twin whom Harry had long since given up trying to discern between, had erected a marvelous one. Luna was stuck by her own curse leaving a dark haze that fluttered around her eyes, blinding her.

"Harry," the girl murmured dazedly. 'Oh! Oh I like this spell! I can see all the Amberetta's now! The castle's simply filled with them at winter time!"

The girl turned in the direction of the Weasley twin who had lowered his wand. "Well don't stop now. I might still be able to fight without my eyes you know."

The girl threw her wand forward and bellowed _"Expecto Patronum!" _Then she twisted and cast a Point Me Spell with Fred Weasley as the target. The Weasley twin was unprepared for the rush of the ghostly hare that slid through his still active _Protego_. His concentration broken and he lost the spell, leaving him open to attack.

"_Abiurspectus!"_ Luna exclaimed and this time the blinding spell got through, smacking the Weasley in the face. The same dark mist seeped about the red-head's eyes as did around Luna's.

Harry smiled at the swift use of several different spells. The best part was the fluidity with which Luna flowed from spell to spell. Not a beat had passed between the releasing of her Patronus, which slid toward the Weasley, and the beginning of her next spell combination. A clever one at that. He would have to remember it.

"Great job Luna!" he praised. "I admit I'm more amazed that you knew which twin he was, though."

The girl turned in the direction of his voice and gave a slight curtsy which looked rather silly with her eyes covered in dancing dark mist. Harry shrugged it off and sent the counterspell at her, restoring her sight. "Thank you Harry."

Harry turned and the chair, plush and comfy, floated further down the line as per his need. The room of requirement complied and his wheelchair slid slowly down the line of dueling combatants.

"Seamus bad pronunciation on that last spell. A-bee-uur. Not A-bur."

The half-blood turned and smirked at Harry. "Yes Professor X. By the way can you tell me what she's thinking with your mind powers?"

Harry caught the muggle reference to his floating 'wheelchair' and grimaced. Mind powers indeed. Occlumency was grating on his nerves and he'd almost just forgotten about his next lesson in a few days. He put on a false smile though and replied, "Yes, but that would be cheating."

Seamus scowled. "No fun, Potter."

The explosive prone boy turned back to his opponent and hastily raised a _Protego_ to block Cho Chang's attack. He growled out that he hadn't been ready and girl smirked back at him with a sneaky little grin. Harry flushed red. The girl wasn't even grinning at _him_ but he caught her eyes anyway and her own face reddened a little bit.

"W-well. Good _Protego_ there Seamus," he stuttered and turned, moving on down the line.

Going a little ways down he found the heated back and forth between Ron and Hermione was perhaps a bit _more_ heated than usual. They were focusing on the blinding spell but it appeared these two had already gone on and incorporated the _Abiurspectus _spell into their battle styles. Ron, despite his significantly smaller array of spells, was very quick on his feet. So while he often physically dodged most of Hermione's complicated spells, he rarely stretched beyond the regular _Protego_ for defensive means. His speed kept the girl on edge though she clearly held the advantage. A transparent cylindrical wall surrounded her that Harry idly noted was stopping every one of Ron's blinding spells but none of the others.

Spellwarding. Harry knew of this from class but didn't know how to cast the spell himself. Hermione had effectively rendered herself un-blindable though as all _Abiurspectus _spells were instantly dissolved upon reaching the barrier. It was a way of defending against one particular spell but the problem was that it didn't move with the caster leaving her unable to dodge.

Not a problem for Hermione as she knew a ridiculous number of shielding spells.

_"Confundus! Abiurspectus! Wingardium Leviousa! Expelliarmus!" _Ron's voice didn't even pause between spells as lights danced out towards an unreachable Hermione. The girl stopped everything with efficiency and sometimes complexity. An _Ekrixio _spell literally forced Ron's _Wingardium Leviousa_ to rip apart in a grenade of magic, pieces of it landing all over causing the carpet and bits of other people's clothing to float. His _Expelliarmus_ was batted back to him without a spell of her own, her own magical force strong enough, or perhaps just accurate enough, to deflect it.

He blocked the spell and then Harry lost track of what happened next. One of pieces of magical shrapnel from the _Leviosa Grenade_ hit Harry and he found himself floating straight out of his chair.

"H-Hey! _Finite!_" Harry exclaimed and felt himself plop back down in the chair.

Hermione lowered her wand instantly and shouted, "Harry!"

Ron pounced on the opportunity still not having noticed the effects his spell had laid on his friend.

_"Stupify!" _

Hermione went out like a light.

A sudden intense pressure pounded into Harry's mind. Slight panic took him for a moment before he found himself drowsy. The pressure increased, and his eyes fluttered. His last sight was Hermione crumpling to the ground before he too was swept into unconsciousness.

The legs of his floating chair hit the floor with a hollow _thunk._

* * *

"Alright there, Harry?" Ron's voice came with a cheeky grin the next morning. Harry blearily walked down the stairs into the common room rubbing at his eyes. He had no memory of returning to his bed the previous night and he'd woken fully clothed in what he'd worn to the DA meeting. A splitting headache rocked him but that wasn't unusual with him really.

Ron was chuckling Harry realized mutely as were Dean, Lavender, and a few other older Gryffindors. Harry wakened at the subtle feeling of embarrassment that crept over him.

"I'm fine," was Harry's automatic response, which seemed to be too much for the red-head as he collapsed into helpless laughter.

Harry quirked an eyebrow, and turned to Neville who also appeared to be trying not to laugh. "What? What's so funny?"

Harry turned to find Ginny sitting with the a few other fourth year girls in the corner. Her face scrounged into a storm of near fury. She rather snobbishly turned her head _away_ from him and stood striding out the portrait hole without a backward glance, leaving a very confused Potter.

At that moment Hermione strode down the stairs and caught sight of him. The girl smirked a little before propriety set in and she fixed her posture into that of a tolerant older sister. "Honestly boys!"

At this point Neville too fell into laughter clutching his stomach. Hermione strode down the stairs and straight up to Harry wand drawn, reminiscent of all the times she had repaired his glasses over the years. _"Scorgify." _

The spell slid across his face and he felt his eyes clear and a bit of the uncomfortable itching that had been plaguing him since waking ease.

Ron was literally holding the table to keep his balance now and the girls in the corner were openly giggling at him. "What was so funny!?" he asked, now awakened fully.

"They wrote on your face. Rather lame prank if you ask me." Hermione replied but the grin that she couldn't keep from her features told him that even she found whatever his face had said to be funny.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned a glare on the obvious perpetrators.

"Harry, you were out like a light. How could you expect us not to do _anything?" _Ron asked.

The black-haired boy didn't dignify the redhead with a response, preferring instead to just stride towards the exit after Ginny. "I'm going to breakfast..."

They were still giggling as he left. Hermione, thankfully, followed him. They walked together in silence for a little while before a tick formed on Harry's brow. The girl was trying very hard and _almost_ succeeding at holding back her own series of giggles.

"Honestly!" he hissed in a sort of painfully lighthearted voice. "What was so funny!?"

Hermione shook her head, her own laughter unwillingly spilling forth in the form of a delayed chortle. "Oh nothing too bad. Just had "I Love Cho" pasted across your forehead.

Harry flushed. Then he growled. Then he settled for an annoyed eyeroll.

"I hate Ron," he filled in dryly.

Hermione threw him a playful look. "Why? He only tells it like it is."

Harry gave her his usual half-lidded stare. "Correction, I hate you all."

Hermione laughed, and it lifted Harry's spirits. All he'd ever wanted was to be normal after all. Maybe for a little while he could forget about the dreams that plagued his sleep, and the persistent worry of the war to come.

They continued down the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with a bit more light in their step than usual. It was a good day for once. Despite the splitting headache Harry felt things were looking up.

As it turns out they pretty much were.

Somewhere around the midday point during McGonagall's or Flitwick's class his headache had receded to a dull throbbing. Furthermore, he'd run across a flustered Cho Chang in the library in between classes and had ended up talking with her the entire break. It hadn't been anything truly groundbreaking but Harry felt that it was a start. He'd liked the girl for nearly a year now and she'd asked him if he'd wanted to meet to study together after classes today despite the year difference in their ages.

To his credit he'd managed _not _to spill his drink all over the books in front of him... but only just.

Two forty. Harry only had one more class to go before the day was over and done with. Thankfully he didn't have Occlumency lessons with Snape that evening but even if he did Harry felt the day had been rather successful. He couldn't wait to go flying. Just because Quidditch had been outlawed didn't mean that he had been exempt from flying and it was one of his true joys in life.

As he walked onwards to the worst of his classes. Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The woman was a monster and unless he remained nearly perfectly quiet he would find himself with detention almost every time he sat in her class. He'd managed to hide the now permanent scars in his hand but had been unable to completely silence himself to avoid getting new ones. Somehow the woman managed to get a rise out of him. Her stupidity in regards to Voldemort's return was nearing legendary levels, eclipsed only by Minister Fudge's insistence that Dumbledore might be breeding an army.

Stepping into the room, he suppressed his gag reflex with the cold efficiency of practice.

'_So... many... fucking... kittens...' _he shuddered mentally.

Sitting down at his usual desk he found himself to be a bit earlier than usual to his great displeasure but there was little to be done about it. He would have to wait out the hour and hopefully they would be able to learn this evening what the woman had been dreadfully incapable of explaining.

After a short time the rest of the students filed in. The cat clock on the wall behind her chimed a cute little meow that served to send a shudder down Harry's spine and the woman looked up from a book as if she'd only just noticed the group of them sitting and waiting.

Harry didn't need to pay attention to her words. He mimed them as she said in her usual girlish voice, "Please turn to and read Chapter Twenty Seven. There will be no need to talk."

Harry, for once, actually turned to the chapter and found himself reading, and clawing his eyes out, at the description of the banishing charm. _Useless! _

His eyes caught on a lick of text though and he noted a few pages into the chapter that even the author stated that the charm was rather simple, and also third year material at that. However, he went on to sheepishly explain that his book had included the charm because here it would discuss the many many tactical uses of banishing objects mid combat.

At first Harry was intrigued. It was rare that one of the class books would provide any sort of actual use this year. Most chapters were written by "Derfringus Dalgo." A renowned dueler to be sure, but an utter bore with the pen. This particular chapter was written by another chap by the name of Jake. No surname. Just Jake." By the time a half an hour had passed Harry had delved into the surprisingly long chapter with a fury. Instead of going on about the technicalities of the spell, the man listed seemingly hundreds of practical applications to it, not the least of which was playing pranks on annoying friends. A quick banishment here in the right place and you could find any number of your enemies or friends sprawled about on a living room floor.

"_Vengeance will be mine Ron! Hahah!" _he thought with just a tad of mad cackling.

Unfortunately the book had absorbed him so thoroughly that when his name was called, he missed it completely.

"Hem, Hem!"

He couldn't miss that though. _No _one could miss that.

His eyes jerked out of the book and up to the woman sitting at the front of the class. Giggles came in from everywhere and he flushed.

"Silence." The words were not demanding or even harsh but Harry took small comfort in the fact that they did stop the embarrassing laughter.

The woman smiled at him in a way that he simply _knew_ would not be good for him. "Potter. Detention."

The boy rolled his eyes, and looked to the heavens as if asking for assistance, knowing it wouldn't come. Instead he just sighed in resignation. He would have detention. He pretty much knew that going in. It had been nearly two weeks after all.

The sensation of a hand slapping his forehead hit him with little real force but It well mirrored how he felt. All he wanted to do was dropping his head into his hands and _moan_. But... It was what it was.

"Yes Professor."

The woman's face stretched into that wide toadlike imitation of a grin. "Ten points to Gryffindor! It seems you can be obedient if the notion strikes you."

He rolled his eyes once again.

* * *

Detention was as usual. Harry stepped into the room feeling tired and not at all filled from his rather meager dinner.

"Well Mister Potter. How are you this evening?" The old witch asked in a way that made him want to throw an _Incindio_ right in her delicate toad face. He idly wondered if she would croak as she died.

'_Bad thoughts for a light wizard Harry,' _he chided himself peevishly. Sometimes being good just sucked. Still, it didn't hurt to fantasize a little. The question she asked was so unutterably provoking that he sometimes though maybe he could just pull a Voldemort... just once...

'_Bad Harry!' _he stopped himself again.

"Was feeling a bit under the weather this morning," he carefully evading describing how he _currently _felt.

"Oh? Did you see Madam Pom-"

"Yes," he interrupted. "She said it would be alright, yesterday and I am feeling much better since then." Truth. He was feeling _far_ better today then he had been yesterday.

"Don't be interrupt me Potter."

He grit his teeth. He didn't understand why but he was feeling strangely emotional at the moment. His anger burned an intense well, far more so than usual.

"Now I assume you know what my first question will be?" She once again had that horrid grin on her face, and he found that he _did_ know.

"No." He replied to the unvoiced reason for his detention. To the students in class it was because he was being inattentive today, but the last time he'd had detention it was due to whispering in class. Before that it was sending secretive looks. All of the events had actually occurred but Harry had long since caught on to what they were actually about. "What happened at the tournament isn't a lie, and I won't say it is."

"Oh come now Mister Potter!" the woman seemed exasperated. "You are the most stubborn boy I have ever met. Surely you're getting sick of wearing those hideous gloves around? It would be so simple to stop these little 'excursions' if you would simply admit to your lie!"

Harry's gaze hardened. He would do no such thing.

Surprisingly, he found himself in a talkative mood. She was being strangely congenial compared to usual. Normally she would merely take his answer and point to the parchment laid out for him. Tonight she seemed... well. Not different... Maybe he was growing on her? He could no longer stand it though. Her prompting had started flashbacks which chained from one to the next forcing him to relive the horror in a series of still images ingrained into memory.

Words began flowing from his mouth before he even realized it.

"I was _there _when Cedric Diggory and I reached the cup. Both of us had nearly been taken or stopped several times, and neither of us were in good shape. Cedric was bleeding heavily from his forehead and my legs were covered the stabs of thorn bushes."

The plump woman's eyes rose at this. He'd never spoken about the events surrounding his disappearance and Cedric's death before, and despite her unbelief she was intrigued enough to let him play this out. "As would've been expected from participants in the triwizard tournament. Both of you had fought quite valiantly. I was watching from the stands."

He narrowed his eyes. "Yes, but did you see Victor Krum under the Imperius? Did you walk through that dark maze and listen to Fluer Delacour's screams as he held her under a Cruciatus?"

He shuddered. He hadn't wanted to remember that night. Turning into his own thoughts he didn't even noticed the startled look on the despicable woman's face. "Worst of all when the Cup took us away... did you hear that _voice?" _

A period of uncomfortable silence fell as Umbridge looked at him. He raised his eyes and met hers, and found them... what? Frightened? Amused? He couldn't tell. Her visage was unreadable, but he had started now. He'd barely even told his friends this... and here he was spitting it to one of the people he hated most in the world. But he was already tumbling face down the side of a mountain. The avalanche begun, couldn't be stopped now.

"M-Mister Potter?" Umbridge prodded. Did she stutter? "What voice?"

"_Kill the spare!" _Harry burst suddenly, his best snake-like impression, startling the professor. He glared at her. "Those were the first words I heard after the Cup dropped us both in a dismal graveyard. The sky was black, and the air tasted like soot. And I heard _kill the spare." _

Abruptly a knot of guilt stoppered Harry's throat and he had to strain to push on. "I... I still owe Amos Diggory an apology. If... if only I'd been a little greedy. If only I'd taken the cup Cedric would still be alive. I had to go and be _noble." _He paused. A self-depreciating scoff left his lips._ "Lets take it together!_ I said... So stupid."

He'd cried over this once but tears weren't here now. Only a healthy dose of self loathing, bitterness and hopelessness. He would not cry in front of this terrible woman.

"You use that pen to hurt me. I'm a liar in your eyes and you use it to make me speak a truth that doesn't exist." Harry scowled at her. "I close my eyes and see the life go out of Cedric's... That pen... its nothing compared to how guilty I feel. I couldn't do anything. The killing curse hit Cedric before I even knew this graveyard wasn't still a part of the test. Then..."

How many cards could he afford to play? Not this one. At the first mention of Peter Pettigrew she would close and all of this would be for nothing. "A death eater... Carrying a _thing._ A sickening little wraith that spoke with _his_ voice. That moment I knew that _this was no tournament._ Voldemort."

The woman seemed shaken but she remained firm. "Voldemort... is dead," She confirmed as if reassuring herself.

Harry was surprised. She could say his name. It took a rare witch or wizard to do that. A brave witch. Perhaps he had sold their professor just a tad short. She jumped by a solitary notch on his board.

"Then what was he? A golem with his power and his voice? No, he is no longer dead. He might've stayed that way. If I hadn't been so _stupid," _Harry's voice was drowned in anguish and his face sunk into his hands.

Umbridge was struck by the boy sitting before her. Before it had always been anger. Anger at her, at her laws, at her belief in the ministry and her _firm_ knowledge that the dark lord had been killed. But... his anger now was directed at himself. He sat in the chair before her, sweat trailing down his brow and his eyes straining to hold back tears. Distress _rung_ in his voice, and it rung true.

'_Is this the face of a liar? Are these the words of a liar?' _thought the Senior Undersecretary.

As she sat listening to a boy she'd only ever thought of as an attention seeking brat, she began to question... Abruptly though, she came to herself. He'd been taught by _Dumbledore! _Sweets and Honeyed Words were his bread and butter... if she allowed herself to be swayed...?

"_Voldemort is dead! _I will not hear-!"

"But what if he's _not!" _Harry burst in. "Professor... please! See what you are doing! On the slim, on the _slimmest chance _that I am not lying, you are depriving children of any chance of defending themselves! Please! Teach us! Do only that and I'll take your punishments and your pen without complaint!"

"You won't stop your lies?" She replied solemnly.

"I won't stop my _truths_." His voice rang cold. As if in emphasis the window blew open and freezing air rushed in filling the room with winter's sting. It went all but ignored by the occupants.

The conviction... the sheer conviction, and unwillingness to back down despite even her bloodquill made Delores Umbridge's hackles rise. "I will not allow Dumbledore's Army to grow teeth, Harry Potter. I know what it is he plans!"

The words sounded lame and fickle to her own ears. But her Minister believed it... and she trusted the Minister.

"Then you hold the wand that kills us, surely as Voldemort _will_."

Anger flooded her veins, along with a good helping of guilt that burned her throat and lungs like a lump of hot coal. "I would do no such thing! I want to protect children from _Dumbledore!" _

Sad eyes stared up at her. Defiant? Pleading? Delores didn't know, but she knew she couldn't _stand them_. Not for another moment. He seemed so... so damned honest.

"This is preposterous! I refuse to believe that a dead man can rise from the grave... Go, Harry Potter. I will hear no more of your lies!"

The somber boy stood slowly, staring down at her, looking defeated. "There... is more to the story. I can tell you... if it might change your-!"

"GO!" She screamed. Hatred pulsed in her veins, mixed with a rush of self doubt that the toad-faced woman had never felt in her entire life. _"Get out!" _

The boy stood. The boy who made her feel so very _wrong. _

'_All I'm trying to do is make the world better. Can't you see that? Stop looking at me with those sad eyes!" _She shouted at him with all the mental strength she could muster.

He turned and went, closing the door with a soft click.

The cat on her wall meowed a quarter past the hour, and Delores slumped into a suddenly dreadfully tired sag.

"_I hate children." _

She thought back to what she had said. I will not allow Dumbledore's Army to grow teeth. But was that what she was doing? Preventing a travesty or...?

'_Or causing one. What if he's right? If he _is..._ then you're in the business of killing children Delores.'_

She couldn't believe that. She simply refused to think that what she'd been doing up until now, seemingly so right in thought, could be so very, very wrong.

She still had a long list of homework to grade from several years worth of students, but despite her usually incredible work ethic, Delores did not look at another paper that night. Instead, she was plagued by uneasy dreams and fear filled worries of being the murderer of an entire generation of unprepared students.

The meows of the cat alarms did not soothe her.

* * *

Hermione had been feeling emotional all night. Unsurprising really. She was a woman and it was about time for that sort of thing, but she refused to admit to it. Hormones would have no effect on her attitude, her studies, her friendships, or her life! No sir-eee, thankee but no thankee Sai. There was work to be done!

Yep. _That worked. _

An hour after her declaration of cheerfulness, she found herself staring at a book and not reading the words on the page. Touches riddled her fingers and head like a storm and thankfully none of them strayed to more risque places. If they did she would probably start with accidental magic. She was in _no mood_!

'_Curses,' _she thought abysmally. _'I'm emotional. Dammit.' _

Being the meticulous person that she was, she decided to categorize the things she would be emotional about. If she was going to be a damn worrywart for a week due to biology than she was at least going to do it on her own terms!

So. A list of worries.

Harry of course. Those gloves he was wearing were hiding something. She hadn't really noticed that he'd taken to wearing them nearly constantly until recently but of all people, Ron had brought it up in a conversation today. It had been nagging at her ever since. But she could always worry about Harry. He was in detention again and he clammed up every time she asked him what sort of detentions that vile woman had Harry doing. Yes. That was sufficiently worrying.

'_Worry number one: Check.'_

The touches of course had been plaguing her for four days now but she was still confident she could find the answer on her own. Somehow or another. It was helpful that they'd confined themselves to her face and elbows over the past few hours. Still she couldn't help feeling agitated.

'_They... actually feel really good sometimes. Its kinda nice.' _The thought came completely unbidden to her mind and she pounced on it with rage.

'_Its not _nice_ you foolish brain! Someone is toying with you! Worry! Worry dammit!' _

She firmly placed the Touches, now naming them with a capital T in her mind, as number two on her list, but even as she did so, she found herself lethargic. They _did_ feel good. Most of them. No matter how much she tried, her hormone induced mind simply refused to place its worry there.

OWLS!

That thought was always sure to bring a bit of fear to her mind. They were so close! Only six or seven months and she would be expected to take life changing tests that could set the course for the rest of her days! She had to do perfect! Had to!

_Ron!_

Dammit! She couldn't worry about Ron, not when OWLS were so important! Which of course prompted her mind to focus solely on Ron to the exclusion of all else. Ron... hehe.

'_Oh Ron! We can't do this in the Library! Madam Pince might...!' _

The faux Ron of her mind's eye silenced her with a finger to her lips and a devilish smile. _"We'll have to be really quiet then, okay?" _

And that pretty much ended Hermione's worrying. Hormones were funny like that.

Hermione's next ten or fifteen minutes were spent in a rather glorious little wonderland filled with only her and her red-headed crush. She would've stayed longer too, just laying back on the couch daydreaming as she so very rarely did.

Then, Harry walked through the portrait entrance to Gryffindor's common rooms, and all the worries came flooding back. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and his face was flushed making him look just dreadful. In fact she was almost certain that he'd been...

"Harry? What happened? Are you alright!?" She burst, mothering the boy as soon as he walked in with a Molly Weasley esque attitude. Just barely, she managed to hold herself back from blurting _'Have you been crying?' _There were several people in the common room watching them and Harry wouldn't respond well to that sort of embarrassment.

"I'm fine, Hermione!"

"You're not!" She hissed. Turning she threw a harsh glare in the direction of Lavender and Parvarti. They got the message, along with two or three other Gryffindor younger years. They all began to file up to their respective chambers and Hermione was _so_ glad that they did. Gryffindors were good folk like that. Before they'd even reached the stairs she wrapped the boy in a hug. She loved him dammit. Him and Ron. They were her boys. She hated it when they were hurt...

Curse that fucking Umbridge Toad!

Oh. There were the emotions again. She had to tune those down a bit.

"What happened Harry? Please tell me?" She asked when the other Gryffindors had finally departed. Probably eavesdropping on them but at least they had given the appearance of leaving. Bloody Gryffindors.

Wait. Hadn't she been lauding them moments ago? Damn she hated hormones. They always hit her so strongly.

"Just Umbridge..." He sighed, now looking a bit better as they sat down on the couch and sunk into the pleasant feeling of cushions. "I... I was so sure that I'd gotten through to her. But she just threw it in my face. That woman will _never _change!"

Hermione nodded. It was as she'd suspected. "I'm sorry Harry. We'll get through this somehow. You know you have most of Gryffindor on your side, don't you? The naysayers are louder than those who believe but..."

She stopped dead. Harry was scratching the back of his head.

On the back of her head she felt a soft pleasant scratching sensation. Her fingertips shivered.

"H-Harry...? Are you...?" Her hand ghosted over the back of her head slowly. "Are you doing that?"

Harry watched Hermione, his heavy emotion forgotten in place of simple puzzlement. "Doing what?"

"_That!" _The girl hissed almost in tears as she pointed to the back of his head. Then to her own head. "I... I _feel that!_ Its like someone is scratching me head!"

Harry's eyes bulged. "Y-You're feeling them too!"

Hermione jerked. "W-wait. You've been feeling the... the Touches?"

Harry noted the capital T and inferred exactly what she meant in a sudden and nearly horrifying moment of clarity. "Y-You're saying what I've been feeling is-!"

'_Test it!_' Hermione's meticulous mind screamed at her with fury jumping on the discovery like a lifeline.

The girl took her finger and ran it up the length of her left arm staring at him for signs of a reaction. It was the exact one she expected. Harry shuddered and held out the arm. "I... Hermione I felt that!"

"So, you're feeling everything I feel?" She asked, and was not ashamed to admit she had squeaked a bit. A bit of panic and hysteria set in. She didn't even blame the hormones on this one. "Why can you feel everything I feel!?"

"S-Settle down Hermione. This isn't any worse than the polyjuice fiasco in second year. We'll figure this..." A hand fell on her shoulder to comfort her. He _felt _his own hand on her shoulder sure as if he'd placed it right across his own. "...freaky," he murmured.

Hermione relaxed at his touch though. "Y-you're right, of course. I... sorry I panicked a little."

"This is all a little much," Harry said with a grin, that was remarkably free of the anguish that had been there before. Relief had replaced it and heavy relief at that. "I have to admit, I'm just glad it was you. For the longest time I'd thought it was someone stealing my invisibility cloak... or worse."

Hermione didn't have think hard to discover what he meant by that. Voldemort, of course.

Abruptly her own sigh of relief pelted down on her. It was Harry. They'd been cursed or something. Nothing they couldn't figure out together. Most assuredly the curse had absolutely _nothing_ to do with Malfoy. "I was worried Draco had managed to curse me somehow."

Harry scowled, but didn't outwardly respond, preferring instead to toss that bitter thought away and quickly.

Idly she twirled a finger around on her arm liking how he seemed to react to the touch. She moved a hand slowly to his own arm and ran her hand up it, feeling the pressure on her own and a trail of goosebumps.

"This... is so weird." She commented idly. "Have you ever heard of anything like this?"

"Beats me," he said casually. Idly he cocked an eyebrow. Then he grinned. "Fancy a back massage, Hermione?"

For a moment Hermione was puzzled. Then the implications sunk in and she realized the oddly self-serving nature of his suggestion. "Prat." She laughed. "Why not?"

Relief in its greatest form had swept over her. It was Harry. Some other fucked up bit of Harry Potter Magic that had entered her and that was all. Nothing to fear. One worry assuaged in the course of an hour, and a significantly happier Harry had left her feeling simply wonderful. She rolled over as Harry stood and knelt down by the couch while she lay on her stomach, sighing gracefully into the pillow with content.

His hands found her back instantly and began to rub high on her shoulders where she was stiff from a long day spent hunched over books. Instant pleasure flooded her mind and she couldn't stop the mewl that spilled from her lips in appreciation. "Oh that _does_ feel good Harry!"

"I know!" He returned happily. "I guess I can feel where you're sore."

"Ahhh..." Hermione relaxed as Harry's trustworthy hands ran over her back. That was Harry. The best friend a girl could ever ask for.

Five minutes later and she was putty in his hands and barely coherent. When his hands finally left her back all she could managed was a feeble cry. She opened her eyes and looked over to him, still hunched over the side of the couch beside her, and found a decidedly devious look on his face.

"Harry?" She questioned, just long enough to feel him place his hand on his own chest. Nothing all that wrong with that really. Nothing...

The feeling of a heavy hand laid down on her left breast with all the heat of Harry's own. Even through the clothing of her after-school muggle dress she felt it.

The daze of the massage fled instantly. Her cheeks flushed. Deep and strong and crimson as she suddenly realized with unerring clarity that _Harry_ was behind every single one of those perverted touches that had left her shuddering in the hallways. Every... single...

"H-Harry!" She hissed and smacked him in the shoulder. "Don't do that!"

His hand left his chest and fell to his side. "Oh come on Hermione, I was just teasing! Its not like I actually touched _you! _I mean... you're like..."

The boy trailed off as he suddenly came to the same conclusion she had already reached. His eyes grew wide become saucers in moments as he took in the implications. Every time he had a shower... every time he _adjusted_ whenever he spent a little too much time thinking about Cho.

_Hermione had felt it..._

He slid halfway across the room from her instantaneously nearly falling into the fireplace in his haste to get away from her, falling on his ass in the process. "Heh... hehe!" He laughed nervously. "Er... sorry about that Hermione! Hermione, ole' chap!"

At the exact same time Hermione had sat dead straight up, doing a right fine imitation of a board. Her face was flushed redder than the fire's coals. _"Every time I've touched, he can feel! Oh god he's felt... Its Harry! Eww! I didn't know! I didn't know! And... And he's been touching my..."_

"_She's been feeling my...!" _

"R-Right! Harry Mate! Well I... I suppose I should be heading to bed then!" She replied with exaggerated and over the top platonic tones.

"Definitely! I'll... see you in the morning!" He responded in kind.

"Right...! friend!"

"G-G'night, er... Buddy!"

As one they both dashed up their respective stairs and away from the unbearable embarrassment.

Neither slept well that night. Both were trying desperately hard _not _to touch any part of themselves, lest the other feel it.

Lest the other... _respond._

* * *

**END CHAPTER**

**Author's Notes: **

Having fun yet? This story is only getting more twisty as it goes. For once I'm not flying by the seat of my pants. I've got a direction and a goal and a plot and everything! I did say it would a Soul Bond fic. Of course I never said it wouldn't have copious amounts of plot too. Little fanservice too for the funzies.

As requested before, Prereaders are wanted! Special thanks to MarkerIV for his help in the creation of this little muse. Feels so good to really want to write something again!

I hope you like! I'm really taken with this idea. Angst. Romance? Drama? Comedy! Its gonna have every single one. And of course... _epic._ Harry's Ka-tet is in for some fun times. Kudos to anyone who caught the various Dark Tower References peppered throughout.

This story marks One Million Words uploaded by yours truly! It's been a great nine years! Love ya all!

**Please leave a review!**

**Till next!**  
**MB**


	2. A Good Day

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter ain't no creation o' mine ya hear?

**Notice: **I don't bash. I don't _do bashing. _Characters will be portrayed to the best of my ability as canon to start with. A warning. I will probably dramatically diverge them as the story goes on.

**Forward: **Seems this story has been well received. Wonderful. I do so hope it continues to succeed above and beyond my expectations. Questions of Madam Umbridge's character are coming in and I would like to note that I am changing this for the originality of it. Yes. Umbridge is a bitch in cannon and quite possibly a death eater but as of early book five its hard to tell if she truly is evil or just blinded. For the purposes of this story i'm going with severely blinded.

Despite the fact that canon Delores Umbridge sent Dementors after Harry, it is obvious that mine did not. Sorry for the confusion and the small point of fact that makes this AU. However, if taken from the very moment the story began, It could still be considered straight cannon as long as you disregard cannon events that happen later.

I believe this genre is called Divergence as it will now be captioned in the summary.

Okay. That was a long ass way to simply say, Its AU. Dammitall. I am a long winded bastard, ne?

So... without further adieu:

_Tally Ho! Let us fly! Forward and true through the gaping maw of mystery, suspense, and surprise! _

* * *

**Error of Soul**

* * *

_"Honestly Harry. My breasts are private property! As per Educational Decree #87 you'll need a written letter from the ministry if you want access."_  
–Hermione Granger

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey was a woman of humor. While at school of course she was all business, but any faculty who had gone with her to the yearly Christmas parties knew the canyon of disparity between her work mask and her real self. She kept her work at work. Which was easy. Sobering up was not difficult when a student's life or limb was on the line.

As most in her field had agreed, she found that whenever she wasn't busy, it was prudent to take advantage of the humor in life. Go drinking! Go to France and buy wigs. Wander out in the muggle world and laugh at all their fancy techno-mumbo jumbo!

And she did. During her free time, what little of it there truly was, Madam Pomfrey _got out, enjoyed life, and laughed loudly._

Usually it was very easy to keep that lifestyle of hers reigned in whenever she was fulfilling the extremely important job of a medi-witch.

_Usually._

The situation before her now was utterly serious. Two students who had been terribly close for five plus years now stepping into her office with beet red faces and more embarrassment than should be aloud, was one of the _most_ serious of situations that a person of her esteemed profession could face. Yet it was all she could do to keep from laughing and laughing and laughing till kingdom come.

"Harry, dear. Hermione? Did you need something or were you both just going to stand there till the birds decide to make nests in your hair?"

Their blushes deepened.

'_Ahahahahah!' _she guffawed inside. _'Rich! Golden! Ahhahah!' _

"Ah... er, Madam Pomfrey, we ah..." Hermione floundered her shame once again getting the better of her. Her voice faded to a dull murmur. The unflappable Hermione Granger. Thoroughly 'Flapped."

"We have a... problem." Harry finished lamely, his head down, and his hands held in his pockets like a toddler who'd been caught with his fingers in the biscuits.

"I should say so!" Madam Pomfrey interjected, unable to hide the mirth in her voice. A wistful sigh escaped her lips. The girl would face shame of course but all women and men who were careless at their age did. "How long dear?"

"Y-You know already?" Hermione's whole body flushed now. "God this is so humiliating..."

"Oh its not so bad deary," the medi-witch replied kindly ignoring Hermione's indignant squawk of _'What's not bad about it!?' _with the ease of practice. 'You aren't the first pair to walk into my office after a careless night, and you won't be last. Now, somehow you're pregnant, unless I miss my guess. How far along are you?"

_Dead silence. _

Then...

"_EWW!" _They both screamed in tandem jerking to opposite sides of room as if a blast ended skrewt had suddenly materialized between them.

"_I would never do that with–!"  
_"_It's Harry! Gross! You've got it all–!"_

Suddenly the two realized what the other had said and then turned to stare. Harry, hurt a bit by the bushy haired girl's words, spoke first. "I'm not gross!"

Hermione paused, biting back whatever she'd been about to say originally, adopting an apologetic disposition. "S-sorry Harry. I didn't mean _you're_ gross. I just meant it would be gross to be with you like _that_."

Unsurprisingly, that offended the Boy Who Lived even more than the previous comment. Now feeling defensive, he bit back at the girl, "What's so bad about _me? _It's not like being with you would be all that great!" Harry burst in, glaring sharply at his longtime friend.

Indignancy flared in the bushy haired genius. _"Hey!" _

"Children, Children!" Madam Pomfrey called, quieting the two agitated Gryffindors. "I think it would be best if you explain to me what's _actually _going on. Clearly I jumped to a conclusion."

"_I can feel everything she's–!"  
_"_We're feeling each other!" _

The pair's words came bursting out at once and Madam Pomfrey understood neither. Hermione stepped forward drawing the frazzled Medi-witch's attention. "Madam Pomfrey, what we're trying to say is that we both can feel what each other is feeling."

At those words... at _those words_ Madam Pomfrey had absolutely no trouble whatsoever sobering from her humor. It couldn't be. Not these two... something like this couldn't _possibly_ happen to these two!

* * *

**Chapter Two  
A Good Day**

* * *

"What did you say?" the medi-witch asked, having heard the girl perfectly clearly. She asked out of hopeful optimism, more to confirm that they'd spoken exactly what they intended to rather than wrongly wording their condition.

"Its true, Madam Pomfrey. We... can feel whatever each other feels."

"The touches you were feeling?" the elderly woman asked somberly, all of the levity from her original belief swept away in light of this new revelation.

"Her." Harry confirmed. "I was feeling whenever someone hugged her or whenever she brushed her hair or... any number of things." He flushed deeply and Hermione joined him, easily explaining the embarrassment they had been feeling when they both walked in.

Light hearted. Embarrassed. Of course, they didn't know. Muggle raised the both of them; why would they know? They _should _ be mournful. She certainly was, but it was obvious Hermione had not found any books on the subject or perhaps she would already know why the medi-witch's mood had suddenly plummeted.

Her melancholy expression was not lost on the two students before her, and their shame faded to concern. "Madam? Is... is it serious?"

'_Why? Why always you, you golden hero? You wonderful young witch? Why must the best of us always be dragged through the mud?' _She thought, now utterly solemn.

She didn't respond with words. Her eyes watered but she turned quickly to hide it. Instead, she stood from the straight-backed chair that she'd had for almost a decade now and traversed stone floor between them. Harry first she swept into a deep hug.

"M-Madam Pomfrey?" Harry asked. "What is it?"

She remembered his description from a few days ago with perfect clarity.

_"Nothing like that. Just light little touches on my shoulder or chest or even my fingers. Mostly my fingers, in fact. Kind of like a ghost was creeping up on me and laying a hand on my shoulder or something like that. It doesn't hurt; its just odd."_

With just Harry, any number of maladies could make a person feel like they were feeling the touch of someone who wasn't there. Mix an _actual person_ in on the other end, able to feel everything he felt as well... that truly limited the number of possible answers. The woman strained her mind, but for all her effort only two possible causes came. And she highly doubted the two had been practicing dark rituals. Even if they were that would be better than...

Releasing Harry a little she snagged the bushy haired girl and pulled her into a triangle squeezing them both and trying desperately not to cry. "You two... I don't suppose you've both performed a _D'Resonance Ritual_ by any chance?"

Both stared at her blankly, unnerved by the woman. Rituals, even light ones, were generally frowned upon at Hogwarts. Neither student had any good experiences with them, Harry least of all with last year's fiasco and Ginny in the Chamber in his second year. Of course, neither student could understand why the medi-witch seemed so _hopeful._

A tear trailed down the healer's leatherfaced cheek. "I thought not. Harry. Hermione. _Be strong._"

She reluctantly released the now thoroughly shaken pair and wandered her way across the room to a shelf of books that neither Harry nor Hermione had ever seen her actually use. Perusing for half a moment she paused on a rather old thick tome and slid it free. Even from the few feet away the two students could smell the dust from the unused bookshelf. Hermione's inner self screamed in agony at such mistreatment but she was silenced by the seriousness of the situation.

"_Finite Incantatem." _The medi-witch declared solemnly and the dust covered book on extinct poisonous creatures she held transformed itself into a nearly equal sized pristine black leather bound book. In flowing gold lettering Harry caught the word _Soul_ from underneath the healer's hand.

'_She's so shaken,' _thought the boy as he watched her hand shudder over the newly revealed book. _"What could make Madam Pomfrey so worried?' _

Meanwhile Hermione was drawing similar conclusions as the woman straightened and wiped away at her eyes. She turned to face them both and approached, placing the book steadily in Hermione's hand. The girl read the title, written in flowing golden script, "_On the Subject of Soul Bonds" by Susan Delgado._

"Is this what we have? A soul bond?" Hermione asked, eyeing Harry nervously. The phrase _"Soul Bond" _had a sort of permanence to it that neither Harry nor Hermione found comforting at all.

"I believe so miss Granger. Now I do so apologize but I think I will not be in for the next few days. I feel I'll be taking leave. Please do try to avoid mortal peril for the next week if you would, Mister Potter?" She asked solemnly, her voice cracking a bit.

She bustled around the room gathering various things with careless waves of a wand, as if suddenly possessed by the spirit of travel. A suitcase seemed to slide out of the closet and clothes began filing themselves away. "You two. If anyone could make it through this, it is you two. Best of Friends. Please try not to forget how much you mean to one another. Yes?"

And with that the woman turned away from the two, leaving them both standing awkwardly as she began to pack for what looked to be a _long_ vacation.

"M-Madam Pomfrey...? You're acting a bit odd." Hermione supplied in an effort to coax the reason for the woman's abrupt change in attitude out of her, but the old Healer merely flashed her a smile.

"Off with you now. For once, you both are in perfect health. Its one of the advantages. There are _many_. Be strong now." She repeated gently. "Off with you." She shooed them kindly.

Be strong now.

Be strong. She kept peppering that in! What the hell was a Soul Bond!? Was it like cancer or something? Neither student was allowed to ask as they were both bustled out of the hospital wing by the falsely upbeat healer.

When both students stood outside the door, Harry looked to Hermione as if trying to seek an answer but for once Hermione was as clueless as he was. "Well that was decidedly _weird. _Any idea what the hell she was on about?"

"Haven't the foggiest." The witch replied.

On the other side of the door, they would never have expected to find their sober and often dour healer with her back pressed to the wall, huddled in a ball and crying softly into her curled knees. The unfairness of a cruel world laid heavily on her shoulders that morning.

"_Be Strong," _she had told them, and the healer hoped they could. Never had she seen a friendship so powerful as that shared by Harry, Hermione, and Ron Weasley in all her days. She fervently hoped that friendship could weather the trials the two now faced. But inside she was counting down the days until Harry and Hermione broke all bonds of fellowship in favor of the seething _hatred _that only a Soul Bond could cause.

* * *

"Hey, Harry. Sorry about what I said in there. There's nothing gross about you. That came out all wrong." Hermione said softly as they both made their way back to Gryffindor tower's common room in order to drop off the book before class and breakfast began.

Both of them had arisen early and both had found themselves in the common room long before the regular school hours. It had been an easy decision to go to Madam Pomfrey with their problem. Both had been blushing all through the morning but somehow the healer's complete change in demeanor upon handing them the book had made them realize they were being stupid.

"Don't mention it Hermione. And sorry... for last night. I shouldn't have done that."

Hermione waved him away casually. "Was actually a decent prank. If not for the... the other things I wouldn't have reacted like that."

Harry knew exactly what other things she was talking about and chose not to extrapolate on the conversation, instead merely nodding. He cocked his head at her after that with a slightly hurt expression though. "So, being with me like that is gross huh?"

"Not gross!" Hermione protested. "Oh Harry, you know what I mean! Its always been platonic between us. I've just never really thought of being with you like..." Hermione trailed off taking in Harry's features as they walked. Stronger than the stick of a boy he'd been when they first met, and slightly more burly. Striking green eyes hidden by round spectacles accented a narrow face that was aging well. Why _had_ she never considered Harry in that manner before? She reddened once again. She was certainly thinking of it _now._ A pleasant shudder ran through her as memories of his hands on her back flooded her mind with endorphins. "Definitely... not gross." She finished lamely, her eyes glazed as mild fantasy ran amok within her mind.

Harry, of course, felt every bit of it. "H-Hermione...?"

She regarded him a bit more closely, coming out of her daze as she realized exactly what it was she was making him feel. "S-sorry! I didn't...! Er.. well you are attractive, and I'd just never really noticed before and..."

And the embarrassment was back.

* * *

Ron was weary upon first waking up at seven in the morning. Glancing at the sound that had knocked him from his usually deep sleep, he spotted Harry walking out of the dormitory and down the stairs towards the common room.

He was sleepy but intrigued. Harry wasn't one to be up this early if he could help it. Well, that wasn't true. He was an early riser but he rarely left without Ron and waited on him. Woke him if necessary.

Friday. Finally the end of this dreadful week had come. Ron yawned, now irritably awoken from his slumber. He only had the one day left until the precious weekend came. The weekend. He tried to keep from feeling the nervous energy that wouldn't stop running through his veins but he didn't seem to be able to no matter what he tried. This weekend in particular, was both glorious and terrifying to Ron. Precious free time for relaxation was obviously glorious. But his game versus the Slytherins was rapidly approaching and he was dreading it. He loved Quidditch and knew, mentally at least, that he was pretty good. If he kept at it he could be one of the best, and that wasn't being modest but...

'_Come on Ron. Its just quidditch. You play it all the time. Harry did this in his first fucking year so why are you so nervous!?' _He yelled at himself mentally.

It didn't help.

The boy threw his legs over the side of the bed in an uncharacteristic show of punctuality. Waking up early was not his forte but he could already tell more sleep was beyond his reach. Two days left. Two days till Sunday. Mentally his mind concocted a little poem, and before he knew it he was merrily plucking the tune in his head. Two Days. _"One for class; One to relax; and a final day to kick Slytherin A–!_

"Hey Ron!" Neville said with a confident smirk. "You're up early."

The redhead was startled by the other boy intruding upon his thoughts but he hid it well. A brief moment of annoyance crossed Ron's features. Neville well and truly _was _an early riser and the quality itself was enough to make Ron cringe. Even so, he too was up early this morning with the nervous jitters, and was thankful for Neville's interruption.

"Tell me about it," the redhead replied with a groan. "Any idea where Harry went off to so early?"

Neville shrugged. "Don't know. He was acting really weird last night though. Kept me up for hours pacing down at the foot of his bed."

Ron tensed at that. Harry always had some sort of trouble going on. Lately it had been dreams. Dreams of a door in a place that he'd never seen before. Who knew what had kept him pacing this time, and it wasn't likely that his best friend had shared whatever was bothering him with Neville but Ron figured it wouldn't hurt to ask.

"Voldemort?" he winced. The name scared him but he wasn't so afraid of it anymore that he couldn't at least try. Harry could do it. So could he, damnit.

Neville shuddered openly. "Doubt it. Kept hearing him muttering about Hermione."

Ron cocked an eyebrow. "Odd twist that. Usually doom and gloom with Harry."

Neville grinned. "I know right?" He shrugged sliding his hair out from his eyes and yawned away his own sleepiness. "Anyway, fancy breakfast? I'm starved."

Ron looked at the time. Early. Early as hell. "Let me get a quick shower in and I'll be right down. Meet you in the common room?"

Neville nodded and padded down the stairwell, leaving Ron alone save for the snores of Seamus Finnegan.

A quick shower and a short walk later both the boys decided that they'd waited on Hermione long enough and decided to go on without her, all the while wondering where Harry had gotten off to so early in the morning.

Breakfast was its usual affair. Ron piled helpings of eggs toast jam and onto his plate while Neville ate a motley assortment of breakfast foods and sipped on tea.

Dumbledore sat at the head table, his eyes surveying them all in his grandfatherly manner. Snape and McGonagall also appeared to be having business as usual. Ron's survey of the teachers found itself falling heavily upon Ms. Umbridge. At first he shuddered out of mere habit. The woman was _vile. _But then he noticed something that he didn't think he'd ever seen before. Madam Umbridge was puzzled. She was making no effort to hide it as she sat in her pink knit sweater and seemed to argue with herself over something or other. Glancing around the room Ron caught not a few eyes watching the woman. Ron hated her and her toad-face but even he had to admit the woman was sure of herself. Normally she sat there regarding the students with that condescending smirk that showed how much she thought she knew.

Today she was... conflicted.

"S-Sorry we're late," came the unusually squeaky voice of Hermione as she slumped down on the table to one side of Ron and picked up a muffin.

In the same breath, Harry dropped into the seat beside Neville. Both of them were breathing a bit heavily as if they had just rushed all the way from the astronomy tower and both were a bit flushed. Instantly suspicious, Ron narrowed his eyes.

"And where were you two at so early?" _'Without me!?' _He barely held back from adding. Jealousy began to rear its ugly head and Ron quashed it with all the force of a bludger. He wouldn't go there again. Jealousy had built a wall between him and his best friend last year with the Tournament. It wouldn't go that way again.

He was jealous. He admitted it to himself. Intellectually he knew he wanted nothing to do with Harry Potter's life. The Basilisk, the Dragon Chasing, not the mention the almost pathetic way Harry pined after even a scrap of family sometimes made Ron want to gag–The scar headed fool actually _wore_ his mum's sweaters! Mental!– but Ron didn't think he'd ever be able to entirely crush that little yearning in his heart for the spotlight.

But last year and forevermore he'd sworn to himself that he would _not_ betray Harry like he had before the first task again. Not ever.

'_Stupid sorting hat was right. I'm a bloody Hufflepuff. Christ.'_

"We were visiting Madam Pomfrey. Still feeling a bit under the weather myself." Hermione lied. Ron could tell but he kept it to himself.

"Same. Seems with both caught the same sickness, Ron," Harry replied jovially.

Ron scowled at that. Harry had this idiotic habit of not taking care of himself at times. Normally Ron didn't have a problem with that. He was a man, and if Harry wanted to wallow in sickness to avoid the hospital wing Ron wasn't going to complain. But the raven-haired boy was forgetting the one thing that Ron truly _needed _from him at the moment.

"You going to be good for Quidditch? I... I think you'll need to catch the snitch quick mate. I don't... know if I'm going to be all that great up there."

That was the difference between the two. Harry, who came up against Dark Lords yearly and wrestled with the impossible like an old friend, casually tipping death a sickle with each encounter, regarded Quidditch as stress _relief. _Ron, who fervently wished he could live up to Harry at times, considered Quidditch to be nerve wracking. At the moment anyway. He imagined it would get better with time but right now his fingers were shaking.

"Oh Ronald, you worry too much! You're a fine keeper. Some of the blocks I've seen you pull off would make Wood envious!" Hermione said flippantly, without even looking at him as if she hadn't just sent his admittedly waning confidence soaring.

Hermione, who cared nothing for Quidditch, thought he was better than Wood? Logically she wouldn't know exactly what Wood could and couldn't do. She rarely ever flew a broom. But it was Hermione! She was _always _right! Practically her trademark, really. His confidence soared indeed.

"You really think so?"

Harry for his part, didn't even understand the request. Quidditch was not stressful for him. He didn't feel pressured to perform, he'd been doing it since first year. The idea of being afraid of losing, of making a fool out of himself was laughable. His name was already being run through the dirt.

"Just stop whatever you can. Don't worry, Mate. If it gets too bad, I'll dig you out with an extra One-Fifty," Harry said, shooting him a grin.

Harry's comment was sarcastic but Ron took it very seriously. "You'd better."

Harry shook his head, still grinning as he stuffed a slice of ham into his mouth.

The day moved on slowly. Potions first, was actually one of the best classes Ron could remember having in a while. One terrible teacher at war with another terrible teacher took the spotlight off of Harry quite nicely leaving Umbridge to toss out her casual "Hem hems!" making Snape grind his teeth.

Frankly, it was bloody brilliant. Every student in the class was certain at any moment High Inquisitor Umbridge would find herself turned into the toad that she so clearly descended from. Two hours and one Shevinskod Potion later, which received the surprisingly nice grade of E for once, Ron found his spirits lifted. The day was getting better.

Charms with the Ravenclaws was a bit different. If by different one meant _fantastic._

There was nothing unusual about the class itself in the beginning. They had settled into an easy pace of about one or two charms per day. Today, professor Flitwick engaged in getting the class to attempt the_ Aqua Eructo _spell. Similar to Aguamenti, the spell created a clear jet of water from the caster's wand but instead of just splashing, the user could then control it, making for an extremely _wet_ charms class. That wasn't the unusual part though. What was strange was that Harry Potter first completed the spell and controlled it with almost unnatural ease. This in itself wasn't so unusual but when paired with the fact that no matter how hard she tried, Hermione Granger could do no more than make one ridiculously powerful water spell that drenched the entire classroom.

"S-Sorry..." She murmured nervously as everyone in the entire room glared at her a little. "I don't know what's wrong professor. It's just not working properly!"

Most of the class just shrugged and cast a few drying charms on themselves, and _Scorgify's _to clear away the water before attempting again.

"Quite alright my dear, Quite alright," the small professor consoled her. "Just using a bit too much magic." He turned his eyes back to encompass the whole room and raised his voice. "Oh, and don't bother with the drying charms until the class is over. You'll all be getting a bit wet today one way or another. Good to see Hermione here has a head start on what this class is _really all about!"_

Hermione scowled. The sound of water spells and splashing filled the room soon after. Ron, for his part, watched the girl tentatively slide her wand, this time pointing towards the wall so as not to hit the entire class with the effect again.

"_Aqua Eructo..." _She nearly whispered.

Another torrential _wave_ erupted from her wand, drenching the stone wall in moments, the stream flowing far beyond the girl's control. Frightened paintings gasped and leaped into more distant frames, just in case the water came too close to their own. Desperately, she used her magic to will the beam of water to move and it wiggled a little. That was all.

"Its... so damn strong! I'm not using that much magic!" she whined in anger.

Ron watched, growing more and more intrigued as Hermione tried again and again to make the water jet anything more than a solid foot wide vortex of water that blasted straight forward. She grew more frustrated by the minute.

Harry on the other hand, appeared to have found a new favorite spell to replace his treasured _Expelliarmus. _His water jet, thin and lithe, danced around the room like a gymnast's ribbon, twirling in ever more intricate patterns and happily interlacing with other people's feeble attempts at the spell as if it were a friendly snake.

Hermione cancelled her wave before the wall literally eroded to nothing and _glared_ at the boy. "How are you _doing that!?_" she nearly spat.

Startled, Harry lost control and the water jet vanished from the air, falling to the ground and joining the cacophony of splashes.

"Err... you're having trouble?" he asked, wrestling with the utterly foreign concept. He'd been just as drenched by Hermione's overpowered water spell as the rest of the class but it simply didn't compute that Hermione was having trouble casting after a second or third try.

"_The wave didn't tip you off!?" _She barked.

Harry scratched the back of his head nervously. Suddenly a spray of water courtesy of Ron, socked him in the face.

"Sorry mate!" Ron bellowed from his seat a little ways down the aisle. His grin depicted a distinct lack of sorrow.

Hermione watched the event at first in consternation. Then the image of a completely soaked Harry Potter rushed over her. Despite the suddenly wet feeling that surrounded her, the studious girl burst into laughter, her frustration evaporating due to Ron's clever prank.

It was better when it wasn't _her fault_ that everyone got wet. Plus. It was _Ron._

Harry meanwhile grinned back at Ron, now even more drenched then he had been before.

_All systems go! Prepare to open fire!_

"_Aqua Eructo!" _he retaliated.

Ron was ready for the attack though and he dodged. Frantically Harry backpedalled trying to control the slingshot of water he had loosed but it was too late. Flying forward into the room's center, the jet splashed professor Flitwick and left the man sputtering.

Flitwick, however, considered himself to be a _fun_ professor. With all the gloom surrounding the students, he took to the sudden and abrupt soaking, the second one in this particular class, with humor.

"P-Professor. Sorry, I..." Harry trailed off noticing the glint in the charms teacher's eye.

"_Aqua Eruto!"_ the teacher exclaimed with giddy delight, and his jet of water blasted forward, soaking Harry yet again in a humorous splash.

For a moment the boy was stunned as the class laughed. Hermione, by now was cackling as she leaned against the wall she'd been having so much trouble with before. As Harry's eyes cleared, he smirked at Ravenclaw's Head of House. "Professor. You know this means war, yes?"

Flitwick grinned. And the room became a battlefield.

Near enough an hour later a giddy quartet of Gryffindors piled out of the classroom alongside their housemates and Ravenclaw counterparts after having what must have been one of the most enjoyable classes any of them had ever experienced. A few squishes of still-soggy shoes echoed up from the floor as they all piled out, laughing and every one of them feeling better than when they entered.

Ravenclaws were a clever bunch! Who knew water spells could be combined like that? But then Hermione and her ridiculously over-powered wave spell had saved the day! In the end everyone was a casualty and none escaped the soggy doom. It was a blast.

There was also the added bonus of seeing their classmates normally unflattering school robes soaked to the brim, and clinging skin tight.

"_Ron looks great when he's wet like that..."_

"_I didn't know Lisa's boobs were that big... Wish Cho was in our year." _

Hermione and Harry's thoughts mirrored those of a near all the other students in one way or another, but only they could feel the heat in the other's cheeks. The elation from too much grinning. The two friends of five and more years glanced at each other and blushed a little, neither knowing the other's thoughts, but both knowing the feelings communicated.

"_Harry... He looks good, too."_

"_Hermione is... cute." _

* * *

Two hours later the spirits of the Gryffindors had of course, sunk back beneath a mire formed by the knowledge that Umbridge's class was next. Last, yes, but Umbridge was a terrible way to end a Friday, and they would be doing so for the rest of the school year. Highly unappealing.

"Wish lunch would last another hour..." Ron mumbled and Harry found himself agreeing.

"Come now, some of the chapters are rather interesting. Harry, you got caught up in yesterday's chapter by Jake didn't you? The strategic uses of banishment charms?" Hermione asked, trying to bandage an open wound but it did nothing to lift Harry's melancholy.

"They don't help anyone else Hermione. Sure whipping the carpet out from under an enemy's feet in a battle is dead useful but what good is that if you don't know the banishment charm well enough?" He asked fervently, his tone filled with his pent rage at the ministry for effectively crippling itself for the battles to come.

"Harry, we learned the banishment charm last year! We know it," Ron protested.

"Yes but how many fourth years do?" Harry bit back sarcastically.

Ron fell into silence. Truth be told he completely agreed with Harry's assessment. The only reason he was trying to play devil's advocate with Umbridge was that it might make Harry feel less pissy. And boy did he have a lot of piss to throw around when he was in the mood.

"Point there mate," he offered lamely.

The crowded halls of Hogwarts were filled with the merry sounds of the armored knights singing Christmas carols. Occasionally a bewitched illusion of a fairy danced around the hallways flitting about between the lights of Christmas trees, their own light adding to the majesty. Ornaments hung from boughs of green bristle that had grown all along the Hogwarts ceiling and a sudden growth of mistletoe had a habit of springing into existence at random intervals, particularly around known couples.

Snow outside made the fires inside feel warmer than ever. Hogwarts was cozy, and as long as Umbridge wasn't dealing out her usual toll of gloom upon the students or teachers alike, Harry found he could feel comfortable.

But as always, that comfort was ruined upon stepping across the threshold of the kitten infested classroom where Defense Against the Dark Arts was taught.

They filled in slowly, even the Slytherins. Only Hermione could happily sit and read for a schedule hour of the day but even she had to admit that she was not going happily into the cute-covered dungeon the DADA classroom had become.

They sat in their usual places, Malfoy sniping Harry a glare, and Goyle giving Hermione a sudden desire to kill.

_'His damn stupid face...' _thought the girl as she ground her teeth.

They waited.

The meow of the clock hit the top of the hour and almost instantly the doors opened to the back of the classroom to reveal the High Inquisitor. Her usual smile resided upon her face once again –that oh so condescending look– and she sat down with her usual prim attitude.

'_Here we go again,' _thought Harry, pinching the bridge of his nose. He felt a pair of arms on the lower side of his chest and noticed Hermione had folded both her hands under her breasts in resignation. He didn't know why but the feeling was decidedly uncomfortable.

"Please put away your books, and retrieve your wands. There will be no need to talk."

Harry sighed and leaned down resting his face in his hand, elbow on the desk. He didn't know why he thought today would be any different, but he had. It was disappointing to see that even his confession –incomplete confession at that– had not been enough to shake the woman.

His book already on the desk, he patiently waited along with most of the rest of...

'_Wait, did she say...?' _

"Come along now children, haven't all day. Wands _out_ I said. Probably best to put your books away too," the woman said irritably.

'_What?' _

The class complied dazedly. The Slytherins were staring slackjawed, for once perfectly mimicked by the Gryffindors' gobsmacked expressions.

The woman stood and walked around the side of her desk with her wand withdrawn. "Since I'm certain your previous professors were likely incompetent we will be starting with the basics. Class, this defensive charm is called _Protego._"

The woman cast the spell with her final word and a glistening blue shield sprang into life. Hovering in front of her like a knight's tower shield, the spell was nearly perfect as far as Harry could tell. He wasn't certain but he thought this might be the first spell he'd ever watched the woman cast.

Realization crept in. He'd _done it_. Somehow during his pain filled memories last night, he had gotten through to the baneful woman. Somehow... he had changed her mind. She was going to _teach! _She wasn't just a mindless idiot parroting the minister's fear.

Harry _beamed at her._ He beamed so strongly that he was pretty sure he'd unnerved her. She met his eyes and then dropped her gaze instead preferring to bristle behind her blue _Protego._ Harry didn't care a bit. He was just so damn happy that he'd done _something!_ Let her carry on with her inspections, her bloody sanctioning of teams and clubs, her review of student punishments! But by god let her _teach _and do it well and all would be forgiven.

"Let me emphasize that this is a _defensive class! _You will be learning no spells that can be used offensively at any time," the woman intoned harshly as if to show that she wasn't giving in fully but Harry couldn't care less. She _questioned. _It might not be belief but it was a chance. And that was more than enough. He'd convinced her to teach. What a _high_ that was.

"Come stand in the middle of the room please," the woman ordered, and the class obeyed confused beyond reason. Only Harry stared at her with the unblinking grin of a man who had finally won a battle in a war of a hundred losses.

"Now," the woman punctuated with a casual touch of her wand. To Harry's shock the desks –_all of them– _slid out of the way to the sides of the room as one. Harry blinked in not a small bit of awe. He wasn't aware that the woman was good or strong enough to banish so many items at the same time in such a controlled manner. It wasn't Dumbledore but it was still impressive.

"Miss Patil, and Mister Zabini. Please cast your shield spells now." She demanded lightly of the two standing close to her at the front of the small cluster of students. Hesitantly, they both raised their wands. Was this a trick? Was the woman going to punish them or–?

"Come now, dearies. Neither of you are dull-witted. You're holding up class. Cast your shields and keep them active till I tell you to stop," the professor clarified, seemingly drawing a small sense of glee from confusing them, while simultaneously frustrated with their hesitation.

"_Protego!" _cast the boy, followed not half a second later by Parvati's lighter pitched repeat.

Two glistening shields of blue power burst into life, radiating a strong brilliance that the _Protego _spell always carried with it.

"Good, good. Now I'm going to cast at you. You may cast _no other spells. _Am I understood?" At his nod, the woman hesitated but one more moment.

"Are you prepared to block?" the question was largely rhetorical as the old woman strode about ten paces back towards her desk. Whirling around, the woman's wand flashed. _"Incarcerous!" _

Ropes leapt out and impaled harshly against Blaise's shield and the boy grunted with the sudden effort of enforcing his shield against the ropes that were already dissipating into ether. The woman didn't stop there, though. The tickling jinx followed. Then a _Confundus_.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_ bellowed the woman and the spell slammed into a now shuddering blue shield. Blaise took a step back.

"P-Professor!" shouted Parvati, growing more concerned as the Slytherin boy grit his teeth in effort. The minister's undersecretary paid her no mind, but instead addressed the class.

"Ah. Mister Zabini has left an opening. Watch closely. _Mosquitious!" _the pale red light of the itching spell sliced through the air, this time aimed lower.

The Protego shield, much like a physical one, didn't cover the full body unless one willed it to. The shield Blaise had begun with had shined with power and successfully covered his whole body. To the dark-haired Slytherin whose magic was quivering on the edge of collapse already, a full body shield had become impossible. His concentration had narrowed to the only area the woman's attacks were landing, shrinking in size until it roughly resembled a circular buckler. The shield wavered and cracking spasmodically and it was everything the boy could do to keep it from bursting to pieces against the woman's almost constant string of spells. This unfortunately left his legs perilously open to attack, which Umbridge now exploited.

A yelp of shock ran up the boy's body as he jerked, falling down and almost instantly scratching at the affected limb. His shield failed completely and he even dropped his wand. But the woman _still _wasn't done.

"_Waltzanda." _She hissed cruelly. And the boy began to dance. His hands left his itching leg, unable to scratch as they so desperately wished to, instead following his twirling feet as they spun with a grace that did not belong to him.

Some students laughed. Harry, didn't.

Harry didn't laugh at all.

"Stop it!" Parvati screamed, noticing the almost frantic pain in the boy's eyes. The itching spell was a very common prank at Hogwarts. Few would make it through their seven year tenure at the school without feeling its effects once or twice, as several of the teachers found it to be a useful motivator. If allowed to scratch, the spell could be almost pleasant, much like scratching a mosquito bite.

But if left unattended for too long, the itch would become _mindnumbingly _painful.

As if coming to her sense, the woman shrugged. _"Finite Incantatem!" _

The spell washed over Blaise in a golden burst that relieved him of both his dance and his itching leg in one swoop.

"Blaise held out for seventeen seconds. Who can do better?" she asked, appearing to try to inject a friendly bit of competition into the game. Harry felt a little sick. A mild torture was still torture.

He watched as Draco approached his fellow Slythern, who had crumpled into a sweaty mess as soon as the counterspell hit him and offered to help him to his feet. Blaise waved the boy off angrily and stood on his own. For some reason, this act struck Harry as poignant. Malfoy? Malfoy offering a hand up? It just seemed strange, but the thought sparked several memories of the boy actively assisting his fellow Slytherin's in soft, silent ways. Harry pondered why he'd never noticed before.

"Now. Since your shield is already active, you will be next Miss Patil." Spellfire filled the air once more and Parvarti was left screaming as an array of attacks slammed into her shield.

One. Two. Three. Each spell sent a ripple through the girl's defense before the fourth spell literally burst the _Protego_ to pieces, falling like glass onto the unprepared girl who fell to the ground in a mere moment, her hands out in a warding gesture that would do her no good.

"_Come on Parvati; you're better than that!" _Harry thought disdainfully. The pressure of a more real situation was obviously getting to her. He would have to work on that. Easy actually. One just had to use a simple disguise and that could make all the difference. Parvati would be working under pressure at the next DA meeting.

Delores stopped her spellfire with a dissatisfied grunt. "Come now students. You did not want to read. Well this will be your defense class until each one of you has perfected this spell. Your shield will _not_ waver and recede as Mister Zabini's did. Your focus will _not_ shatter like Miss Patil. You children will not _die _because of me."

Harry twitched. A bit selfish but the woman was being harsh and that _was_ what they needed if they wanted to truly be good. Parvati, one of _his_ students breaking so quickly was a blow to his self esteem. He was determined to re-earn it.

He stepped forward towards the woman and found Ron _and_ Hermione mirroring him but the woman stopped them, returning to her fake, cutsey speech.

"Now now, Mister Potter. I think you'll be last. Mister Weasley? Lets see how fine your Prewett blood flows, eh?" she commented.

Ron scowled but it didn't last long. Ron did thrive on competition. "You'll find the blood doesn't matter a whit, Professor Umbridge. Just pure talent," the boy bragged.

Surprisingly a genuine smile fell onto the woman's face. "Back up your boasts or you'll have detention tonight Mister Weasley."

Ron, for his part, didn't even blink. The woman's spell flew at him seemingly before he was ready but the shining blue shield of power that _burst_ into life around him, deflecting a full string of six curses without even quivering only emphasized his months of training with the DA. Umbridge quirked a surprised eyebrow, but did not relent. Ron lasted for a full minute and fourty seconds under the undersecretary's barrage. The woman had a trail of sweat rolling down her cheek as she finally broke through the red-head's hefty defense, and it shattered much like Parvarti's had. Ron, strained, his feet squared to keep him steady, but the act was useless. A body-bind curse sent the boy to the ground paralyzed, and he was fully matted with sweat at the strain of holding up the shield for so long.

"Wonderful, Mister Weasley!" the woman exclaimed delightedly as she lowered her wand. The finite spell washed over the red-haired boy, releasing him and he sat up quickly as he turned back to the woman. Had she just... praised him? He almost shuddered, but he couldn't help the blush that rose when the woman said happily, "Ten Points to Gryffindor."

_'Impressive,'_ Harry thought, both with the woman's change in demeanor and with Ron's defense. And his actions fit his style well. Just hold the shield. Ron had a lot of raw magical power. He could tank a hefty number of spells, more than Harry could he was sure. But Harry would show that he had the right to teach the DA. When his turn came.

No one but Draco lasted longer than Ron Weasley as the next few people came up and went down. As the woman cancelled the _Abiurspectus _spell that had caught the blonde boy off guard, he grinned smugly at Ron, who glared back without any real fire. Neville, surprisingly, held his shield for a full minute before the woman got around it by clipping his other arm with a stinging hex. Even with the hex active it took her another ten seconds to bring down the boy's shield.

Pretty soon most of the entire class had gone. As she broke through each of their shields, the woman seemed to nod to herself as if cataloging the specific differences and needs of each student and filing them away for a later date. All in all, Harry was rather impressed.

Occasionally the woman's curses went a bit on the sadistic side. The _Obscuro _spell caused a blindfold to appear around the victim's eyes. On its own, that was nothing major, but when the woman added a Shoe-lacing spell to the knot in the back of the blindfold, Vincent Crabbe found his face suddenly being pulled taught.

She did end it quickly but Harry felt a bit of wariness at the amount of glee she took in these subtle tortures.

Only two people remained in the end. Hermione and Harry himself.

The cat-clock in the corner meowed its usual call. Ten minutes left in class.

"Miss Granger, if you please?"

Hermione hesitated only a moment. Until today she'd thought this woman only a horrible and sadistic witch, but watching her actually training her students had forced her to reevaluate the old woman. Her teaching was surprisingly helpful, giving quick pointers to those who failed too quickly, and praising those who lasted long while offering deeper tips to them. She wasn't perfect of course. Draco received twenty points for only two seconds more time than Ron but the house cup was already pretty much in the bag for Slytherin anyway so Hermione felt little remorse at the blonde's gloating. The point was that Hermione's opinion of the toad was changing. Not much. Not all at once. But just a little, she felt herself able to respect the undersecretary for the first time.

"Are you ready?" The woman asked.

Hermione replied in the affirmative but Umbridge was already casting. A string of five spells, each a low level hex or jinx as she had always started out with leapt from her wand with light.

...And Hermione stepped to the left.

The curses flung behind her into an unsuspecting, Seamus, Ron, and Gregory Goyle, who had lasted in his own bout with Umbridge a piddly twenty three seconds.

"Hey!" barked Ron as he began to dance and laugh, courtesy of the _Waltzana _and _Jubilious _charms respectively. Alongside him were two other cries of surprised irritation. Laughter burst through the room and Harry joined in merrily as he watched his jinxed classmates.

Hermione turned, regarding the Slytherin and the fellow Gryffindors that had been hit with a sly wink. She spared but a moment to glare at Gregory Goyle, who was busy hopping on one foot. Hermione smirked. _'Stubbed Toe curse. Perfect for a brainless dolt like him,'_ she thought, feeling a little guilty and a little fiendish at the same time. It wasn't good for her to be so spiteful. But _oh was it fun!_

All of this passed through the girl's mind in moments before her eyes already turned back to the tired form of Madam Umbridge. The woman had lowered her wand slowly.

"...And Hermione Granger proves herself the most Slytherin of you all." Ignoring the nearly enraged outburst that elicited not only from Hermione but from many of the Slytherins as well, Delores shushed them with a swing of her wand that sent three Finite's washing over the jinxed students behind Hermione._ "_Fifteen points to Gryffindor for the exceptional use of cunning. However, the point of this class is to strengthen your shields, and also to gauge your skill. Wand ready Miss Granger."

And spellfire began.

Hermione dodged, lithely dancing around spells like a ballerina, gracefully dodging in a way that would've utterly baffled herself only five years ago. Those spells the girl couldn't dodge were blocked with quick and almost completely unwasteful casts of the _Protego _spell. Meanwhile the students behind her had nearly _dived _to get out of the crossfire of childish jinxes aimed for the bushy haired brunette.

All the while Harry felt the girl moving. Felt the trickle of heat in her cheeks. The rush of adrenaline as she dodged. The fire that shot through her core at each new casting of the _Protego. _The hard pressure as spells collided into her ambient magic and were deflected by its might. He felt it all... even the obvious rush of excitement and glee as the girl's time soared beyond all the others.

Two minutes.

Three...

'She didn't say we could _dodge,_" Ron mumbled a bit jealously.

Finally after what seemed an eternity of motion and a haze of adrenaline, Madam Umbridge lowered her wand once more. Hermione _beamed. _

"Hermione Granger has proven to be, as always an exceptional student. However, I must warn all of you that there is a way around _every_ shield. Even one as potent as Miss Granger's."

Hermione smirked. There was no way around her shield! Not with the feeble curses the woman was limiting herself to! Hermione felt she could go all day!

"Hermione Granger. You fail my course. Please _don't _return to class tomorrow."

It took half a moment for the girl to process that, and half a second for Harry to realize what the woman was doing but it didn't matter. Harry winced as sheer utter _'agony' _burst through his physique. Hermione went from completely normal to a sucking chasm of doom filled with nothing but despair and desolation.

Harry shuddered, having felt _dementors _that were happier than this. _'She... REALLY cares about her grades,' _he thought, rolling his eyes. Madam Umbridge had keyed into what was most important to Hermione and exploited it without hesitation. It was a sharp lesson. Harry was rather sure he himself would've fallen for it too, if the woman knew what he cherished most.

"N-NO!" Like some creature from nightmares, a gruesome banshee screeched in denial. Deafening, the wretched sound burst the eardrums of the unsuspecting students. It took a moment for even Harry to realize that _Hermione _had made that soul crushing sound. "Y-You can't DO that! You can't–!"

Harry saw the trick from a mile away but Hermione only just noticed as the teacher's wand trained itself on the despairing Gryffindor. _"Y-You tricked–!"_

"Sorry, dear. _Furnunculus!" _

The spell had not been in the woman's arsenal yet today but it seemed she had pulled it out to bring Hermione down a peg. The girl was buffeted backwards and landed harshly on her bum, Harry feeling every bit of the hard landing. Wearily the girl rose a little as hideous boils covered her face and body. Harry felt the stinging and winced but held it in pridefully.

Hermione pouted on the floor as the whole class burst into laughter.

Shamefacedly, Hermione got to her feet, taking Ron's offered hand up as she did so.

The cat meowed the top of the hour just as Umbridge's _Finite _washed over the embarrassed girl.

"Oh dear. It seems class is over."

Surprisingly a small groan of remorse swept through the class at those words. Apparently when Umbridge actually taught her classes were quite likeable.

"None of that. I'll need two feet on the different uses of the Protego spell and its effects by Monday. Gather your things and run along students. There will be no need to talk. Oh, and Miss Granger. Another ten points to Gryffindor, and do be sure to attend my class. Just to make sure we are clear."

Harry watched Hermione let out a sigh of relief and felt a warm radiance flow from within him that would likely have been strong enough to even make Professor Snape crack a grin. The girl nodded with a clipped, 'Yes Professor' that belied how truly relieved she actually was.

"What about Harry!?" piped Seamus.

"Yes. What of Potter, Madam Umbridge?" Draco piped in, a nearly sadistic glee in his voice.

"If you have a question, Mister Finnegan, Mister Malfoy, you will raise your hand." Delores intoned dreadfully slowly, reminding them that she was still not an _enjoyable _professor.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione couldn't help but snicker under their breath at the surprised expression on Draco's face though.

"Mister Potter will have to wait till Monday I suppose. Have a wonderful weekend students. Oh! And Mister Potter. If it wouldn't be any trouble, would you drop by my office around seven this evening?"

Harry winced. She wanted the whole story of course... but. Could he really stop telling her, now that he'd started? If he finished, might she even begin teaching offensive spells to better prepare them for the hardships to come?

"Yes Professor."

And that was that.

* * *

Hermione sat in a comfy chair in Gryffindor's common room. She'd made several attempts to open this book already particularly over the two hours they were given between classes for lunch in the middle of the day but Ron kept hovering over her shoulder. Normally this wouldn't be a problem but some feeling, some inkling caused by the way Madam Pomfrey had reacted to her and Harry's condition gave her the distinct impression that she should hide the book from Ron at all costs.

A Soul Bond with Harry. That had a distinct sound of permanence that she knew would be a blight upon future relationships with Ron or any other boy she felt interested in. Not that she was interested in any other boys, or even that boys were all that important to her. Honestly before this year she'd never even thought of anyone romantically. Viktor Krum? Please. The showboy was completely wrong for her. Still a good friend though.

'_I should probably write him a letter. He was nice, even if he's not all that interesting,' _thought the Gryffindor idly.

She opened the book, putting the idea of a letter to Victor into the back of her mind, and began to read once again.

'_In the wizarding world, however, a Soul Bond is a horrible disfiguration of magic; it is a malady of the highest order. Well that doesn't sound good at all...' _Hermione thought as she read on, worried.

She continued a bit further when suddenly she felt a light pressure upon her forehead. Cold. Goosebumps crawled across her skin. What was Harry _doing?_

Ignoring the feelings she turned back to the book and tried to focus.

_"The Soul Bond has three stages. The first is usually not too much of an inconvenience as it...!"_ Hermione stopped reading as a sudden feeling of _falling_ settled in her stomach. The down part of a swing. The pitching sensation of not realizing there was a step down. Except it didn't stop!

She wasn't falling at all. She was sitting perfectly still in her chair. She wasn't...

Wind, or what felt like wind buffeted her face and arms and chest and knees along with a sharp pressure on the right side of her body. _Veering right?_

"Wh-what is happening!?" She thought, horrified. She felt like she was...

Abrupt realization came to her. Harry Potter. What did Harry Potter do when he had free time? Why he went and _flew _of course. Even in the midst of this god awful snow! The sun was nearing the end of its descent but despite that there would still be light for two hours.

She shuddered as the pressure on the right side of her body ceased and settled into a more normal feeling of travelling straight. Straight into wind that bit at the skin and nipped at her fingertips and ears.

"_The first is usually not too much of an inconvenience as it includes only the sensation of feeling. The Soul Bond is rarely regarded as a bad thing until it reaches the second stage. In this first stage, magic itself ties the sensation of touch in both partners of the Soul Bond to one another. In other words..."_

"_By god, its so cold!" _Hermione hissed interrupting her own reading, standing and scooting her chair closer to the fire. Warmth settled over her as she pushed but she suddenly felt Harry changed direction again. Her feeling of balance felt completely lost and she tried to compensate by catching her foot to the right. Which of course was completely unnecessary. She plummeted onto the common room floor to the laughter of several other Gryffindors from various years.

'_Honestly, Harry!" _She mumbled as her cheeks heated.

"You alright Hermione?" Lavender asked, concerned as she entered the common room and spotted Hermione sprawled out on the floor.

Hermione waved the other girl off casually with a light grin to appease her. "Just fine! Tripped while trying to move the chair closer to the fire."

Lavender quirked an eyebrow. "Closer? Its like a million degrees in here!" The girl came over and offered a hand up to the bushy-haired girl, who took it thankfully. Unfortunately this caused her to drop the book.

Nearly diving, Hermione snatched it from the ground in the hopes that she'd managed to pick it up before Lavender saw the title. But to no avail. Clutching the black leather book to her chest she looked to Lavender and found a rather terrified look on the other girl's face. "Hermione? Why are you reading about something like _that?" _

Hermione fidgeted nervously. "Purely academic." She replied, feeling less confident than she must've looked. At the sigh of relief from the other girl, Hermione grew confused. It was as if the girl had dropped a rock off her shoulders.

"Was worried there for a second. Bad... bad business Soul Bonds," the girl said, clearly a bit startled. "So why don't you come with me? We can talk about things that are a little less... scary eh? Like Umbridge! Can you believe she actually _taught_ today?"

Hermione actually had a bit of an insight to that. Harry had been a little bit put out last night after his detention but something about it seemed less awful than usual. As if his detention hadn't been quite as bad as his previous ones. The thought, and Lavender's question and friendly actions lifted Hermione's mood a little bit. Lavender was actually pretty good at that. Once again Hermione firmed her earlier thought that she should make better friends with her roommate. Of course then the sensation of plummeting to her doom returned and she yelped like a frightened child.

"D-Dammit, Harry," she shuddered clutching the book close, and desperately grabbing the back of one of the sofas for support.

"H-Hermione? Are you okay?" Lavender's concerned voice fluttered in and out through Hermione's mind as she felt the twists and turns of a ridiculously rapid flight. Rolls. Twists. The wind emulated the feelings of all of them, and Hermione closed her eyes to blot of the feeling. Harry was chasing a snitch.

"I'm fine... promise!" the bushy haired girl lied and it was obvious.

"I'm taking you to Madam Pomfrey," the girl insisted.

"No!" Hermione barked, though why she wasn't really sure. Guilt maybe? Seeing Madam Pomfrey look so sad... it was almost as if she thought Harry and She had contracted some sort of terminal disease. All she knew for certain was that she didn't want to see the woman again.

'_Harry is just flying. That's all it is. I can deal with this,' _Hermione thought peevishly.

"Well... alright, if you're sure Hermione." Lavender replied idly.

Harry pulled out of the dive and Hermione relaxed a little. Taking the opportunity, she practically pounced upon the chair. "I'll be just fine here by the fire, Lavender. Perhaps tomorrow we can talk?"

It was the easiest way she could think of to get rid of the other girl but she _had_ to read this book. Even so, she felt a bit guilty at the hurt look on the pureblood's face.

"I hope so." Lavender replied casually. She turned and walked up the stairs to the girl's side of the dorms with a put out expression on her face.

Hermione sighed. Being addicted to books was such a bother sometimes. But in this particular case, she didn't have a choice. The knowledge in these pages was direly important if she wanted to figure out what the hell had happened between Harry and her and find a way to reverse it.

"_In other words, both members of the Soul Bond start to feel exactly what the other feels. Oftentimes Soul Bonded couples find this to be a boon instead of a problem. Feelings are muted by lack of context. Your partner might be turned on but you don't realize that its the girl on the other side of the train doing the turning instead of-!" _

Harry dove again.

Hermione glowered darkly, refusing to feel the terror that was utterly senseless to a girl sitting calmly inside a comfy chair. Muttering to herself, she stared at the book, trying to find the line of text she'd lost. It didn't help that the book was hand-written in a flowery flowing text that was nearly as difficult to comprehend as Ancient Runes.

'_This... might be more difficult than I'd thought,' _she growled mentally.

Near an hour later Hermione watched a red-faced Ron Weasley enter through the portrait hole wearing the elated grin that he only ever put on after an invigorating session of Quidditch and a game well played. He was flanked by Angelina Johnson and his two older brothers but he was the first to notice Hermione. He flinched at her expression. Her eyes were bloodshot and she stared at him with a sort of dead fury that Ron didn't know if he'd ever seen before.

Ron's teammates spotted Hermione's dark disposition and happily abandoned him, walking around the frozen boy without a care.

"See you tomorrow little brother!" piped one of the twins as they made a hasty retreat.

"Er... Hermione...?"

"Ron..." Hermione replied with a hollow croak that might sound natural on a Dementor. "_Where's... Harry...?" _Venom dripped off the words as if they were poison on their own. She stood as if looking around for the boy in question, waiting for him to enter behind Ron.

Ron was not very foolish when it came to some things. For one, he was very in tune with the fact that there were certain times when some women weren't to be crossed no matter what. Hermione was usually an exception as the girl was rarely prone to true rage. Sure they argued all the time but Hermione was never truly so angry that she turned into this... creature of death that stood before him staring at the portal hole like a spider in wait.

'_Wonder what Harry did to piss her off so bad?'_ thought Ron worriedly.

"H-he said he had something to clear up with Umbridge. Why? What did he do, Hermione?"

Hermione's eye twitched. _"_He's taken my _books." _She seethed.

Ron couldn't stop the scoff that escaped his lips. Of course it would be about her books. So predictably _Hermione _was the response that Ron simply couldn't hope to have stopped the laughter that escaped. Particularly not when he was staring down at the black leather book in her hands.

"Looks like you've got one right there!" He injected, trying to mollify her rage. "I'm sure Harry will give whatever books he took back, Hermione. Its not like he couldn't just ask you about them anyway."

Ron of course, entirely misunderstood what she had meant by her words.

"Not like that..." She bit through clenched teeth. "When he's _flying_ I can't _read! _I mean honestly! Bloody git has a good enough time diving at hundreds of miles per hour but does he even think _once_ of how terrifying that is? And _then _I realize that no matter how hard I try I can't concentrate on my–!_" _Hermione blinked in sudden consternation as Ron's jaw along with those of several other students began dropping all around her. "What?" the girl questioned irritably.

"Hermione you-!"

"_She's bloody levitating!" _Someone exclaimed.

"Wh-what?" The girl jerked staring down at her feet in surprise. Sure enough, her toes hung pointing towards the floor at least half a foot off the ground.

It didn't last long.

With a sudden yelp her feet clopped back down onto the ground, her levitation ended nearly instantly by her own surprise. Balance abandoned her and she flailed recklessly on the brink of falling over.

Ron was there of course. His arms wrapped around her teetering body and caught her before she could fall, embracing her in a close hug. They stood there for a moment, Hermione catching her breath, while Ron wondered just what the hell kind of magic Hermione was practicing.

Hermione blushed a beat red.

Several more moments the embrace lasted before Ron slowly let her go. Her heart raced. Her pulse sped in torrents and she was certain every bone in her body was tingling. _'Hold me longer!' _She nearly screamed in her mind, completely forgetting her earlier anger at the other member of the trio.

Then rationality took over and was thoroughly appalled.

"H-Hermione? How were you doing that...?" Ron asked.

'_That's the least romantic thing you could ever say to me Ron Weasley!' _She pouted, her rationality once again losing control, and Hermione bitterly fought the rush of emotions.

"I... Ron, I don't..."

Hermione's eyes widened. She jerked in his arms. She screamed, her hand sliding to her shoulder in sudden pain.

"H-Hermione?"

Eyes watering as her shoulder spasmed in torment, Hermione slowly pulled her hand away from the right sleeve of her striped muggle sweater, wincing as she did so. Her hand, and the sweater's sleeve, were covered in blood.

Eyes widening, Hermione had only one thought. _"Harry!" _

* * *

Harry elatedly stepped into the great hall with the other members of his Quidditch team. They were laughing about some joke or other and Harry grinned feeling the rush of warmth after coming in from the cold outdoors. He loved the feeling.

"Alright, you guys. I'll see you in a little while," he grimaced at this point realizing the time and dreading what it was that the toad woman wanted from him. Sure she'd taught the class but the elation he'd felt from that had faded and now he recalled all the effort he and Angelina had had to go through in order to get the Quidditch teams reformed. Worse, the damn pen made a ghost pain hover over his hand and he moved to covered it even though his gloves were still on. "Got to take care of something with Umbridge."

"Not going to eat with us Harry?" Alicia Spinnet questioned somewhat disappointed.

He shrugged. "No time. She asked me to see her at seven. Probably still pissed that I won't stop _lying_."

That sobered up the team pretty quickly. "You've got our support Harry." Angelina said firmly.

"Thanks." Harry replied, a little uncomfortable with the show of loyalty. He turned to exit out the door he'd just come in and looked over his shoulder at them. "Wish me luck!"

Ron, good friend that he was, was the first to reply. "She's going to eat you. Watch the tongue. It unrolls like five feet Harry."

"Ha." Harry deadpanned, but his teammates laughed uproariously.

He fled the great hall with a sense of trepidation. Luckily the knights of armor and their merry Christmas tunes served well to lift his waning spirits. The woman had been _reasonable_ yesterday. Hopefully he could find a way to convince her to be even more reasonable in the future. And maybe keep his hand from falling off.

_"Bloody Pen," _he muttered, noting the pun.

A few minutes later he opened the door to the woman's study in the room next to the Defense classroom she had chosen. _Something was wrong._ More cats than even decorated the classroom greeted him. He wasn't surprised, as he'd seen the room many times but he still found it to be one of the creepiest places he'd ever been. Considering the Chamber of Secrets and the Shrieking Shack that was saying something. But he could feel more that. Something in the air. The way the candles were all unnaturally bright. _Something was wrong._

Curiously, the woman didn't appear to be present. He wandered for a moment, wondering if she was maybe in one of the back rooms. Her bedchamber perhaps. Set on edge, he stepped into the view of one of the doors that split off away from the small office.

"Madam Umbridge?"

His answer was a familiar, old friend.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

* * *

**END CHAPTER**

**Author's Notes: **And complete. So how looks the second part of my little soul bondy story? Things are getting interesting ne? Oh! So sorry about the cliffie. I do so love them! You don't mind do you?

_;) _

Not really all that much to say at the moment. Thank you everyone who wanted to preread! Special thanks to ByLanternLight and MarkerIV for their efforts in making this ficcy possible.

**Please leave a review!**

**Till Next!**

**MB**


	3. The Arm of the Grave

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter ain't no creation o' mine ya hear?

**Notice: **I don't bash. I don't _do bashing. _Characters will be portrayed to the best of my ability as canon to start with. A warning. I will probably dramatically diverge them as the story goes on.

**Forward: **I'd like to note that while this story is Horcrux compliant there will be no mention of _Hallows_ in my work. Harry will have a power the Dark Lord knows not. Which in canon turns out to simply be a better piece of wood. Lame. Shit he could fucking MAKE an elder wand. Elder Tree. Thestral right outside. Boom.

Not fond of DH if you didn't catch that.

Hmm. Haven't really gotten any good criticism yet. Just a long string of people telling me I'm doing it right. Which does feel relatively wonderful. Bother though. I don't want just _right._ I want MIND-BLOWINGLY RIGHT. Ahh well. Hopefully what you all say is correct because if this fic starts to fall into the shithole you'll only have yourselves... eh.. well... you'll actually have every right to castrate me and burn me at the stake, while tossing my fic into the waste basket.

Whateves. I write like a boss. I can take it.

Still, ten years I've been writing and over a million words and I KNOW I'm only still mediocre. Feel free to do everything in your power to make me a better writer. I do _try _not to disappoint.

While this fic has been upbeat thus far, and I intended it to stay relatively so for a little while, I have no intention of leaving it as just a romance. As the story progresses, soon the only light remaining will be the pre-story quotes as darkness and war will begin to overshadow everything. Warning. It gets pretty dark, but I've left you some good ole' fluff at the end to make up for it.

So bring your Light of Eärendil. Deploy your biotics. Carry with you Eilonwy's Bauble or perhaps the Orb of Aldur. Latch on to Saidin or Saidar with all your might. _Follow me into the shadow, where worlds are but fireflies, only a mere winter away from desolation..._

* * *

**Error of Soul**

* * *

"_This story is hogwash! Everyone knows Hermione burn proofs every book she touches. Though he did get her excitable-ness right. With the way she acts in bed, sometimes I wish she'd burn proof my–!"  
_–Ron Weasley

* * *

Luna sank deeper into the catacombs that rested below the dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Few had ever ventured here. Few even knew the existence of the place, though Luna was certain that Dumbledore knew. Voldemort likely did too, and she couldn't imagine Professor Snape was unaware that his dungeon classroom was not even close to the deepest point within Hogwarts.

Down she went, her footsteps echoing in stone halls that had not been visited in a long time. A layer of dust coated everything and she almost sneezed at the thought. Luckily she held it in. She didn't know what had led her here. A feeling. An inspiration? Perhaps a bloody nargle. She growled. They were _everywhere_ this year, infesting minds that would otherwise be clear. It wasn't too much of a stretch to think that she too had fallen to their deceptive touch.

And yet...

Before her eyes a light appeared in the dim room. It looked like a regular_ Lumos_ yet no wand was casting the spell and nothing seemed to hold the light in place. It danced around, flitting like a fairy, and Luna giggled as once again, her father was proven right.

She had wandered in here from the third floor corridor where the giant three headed dog had guarded the Philosopher's Stone in Harry Potter's first year. It had been splashed across the newspapers and the Quibbler had written an article on the likelihood that Harry had managed to corrupt the area of Hogwarts with "Will-o-the-Wisps." She'd clearly been right.

"Hello there, little fellow," Luna twittered happily. "Are you to be my guide?"

The bauble lit with a pink hue for a moment and then settled down upon the girl's shoulder, lovingly nuzzling her neck like a friendly cat.

"Alright then. Take care not to fall," the blond girl fretted.

* * *

**Chapter Three  
The Arm of the Grave**

* * *

Spiderwebs clung to the ceilings, blotting out the stone above her almost entirely. Luckily relatively few blotted her path. Someone had probably been here before, or perhaps the Will-0-the-Wisp kept the stairway clear, just in case a visitor like Luna ever decided to wander down.

The chamber which still held the Mirror of Erised shined in the light given off by the wisp. Idly, she glanced into its crystalline pane and saw a wondrous image of herself splayed out naked on a bed, with a mischievous Neville Longbottom grinning down at her. Both of them looked older and despite the clarity of the image, the glinting rings on both of their hands somehow featured more prominently than even their readily apparent lack of clothing.

"Hmm," murmured the girl, light disappointment clouding her features. "_That's _my greatest desire? Always thought I was a bit more original than that."

She lingered for a moment. Only a moment, as she knew that desire was a powerful thing, but she simply couldn't resist peeping on Neville's naughty bits. Turning away she wondered if the Mirror's depiction was accurate. Then she scoffed, hiding a small blush.

Paying the image no mind, and promptly deciding she would tease Neville extra hard at the next DA meeting to hide her own embarrassment, she continued in the way that her vague notion was still leading her. Without even a glance or care, she stepped through the illusion of a wall at the back of the room as easily as one might step onto Platform 9¾ and found herself in another long hallway that stretched forward into the darkness.

Two more steps and torches lit on either side of her, illuminating the next couple of feet. She continued and found that as she walked, the torches lining the hallway would light for her, while the ones she left behind darkened after her passing.

Further and further she plunged into the darkness beneath Hogwarts. Whispers echoed of dead ghosts, far less cheerful than those who lurked above. Demons and the damned dwelt here in this corrupted place. Luna, who often prided herself on her ability to be unfazed by the happenings of the world, began to feel nervous.

"Why am I being led down here?" she asked. "Hogwarts... her walls _groan_ here."

The small wisp flitted about in the air, leaving her shoulder once more to fly up. Luna was shocked at just how _tall _the hallway was, but then her attention left the room's vast architecture entirely. The wisp's light illuminated a horrifying and massive painting of a man dressed head to toe in rich armor, holding a wand. In his left hand lay a human skull. His eyes glowed with a holy light, and despite his imposing figure, Luna actually felt a sense of comfort from him. It was what was depicted _around _him that made the image horrifying.

Fires burned in dark chasms that leapt out from dark pits as if to attack. Gremlins and demonic entities littered every inch of the painting, surrounding the holy wizard. A horde, an entire _army_ of them. Their presence only elevated the importance of the countless human corpses that littered the floor in grotesque piles. Lingering in the background was a dark shadow with red flames where its eyes should be. Distant, but any could tell that being had been the source of the devastation. The _Terror._

Quickly though, Luna regained her composure. A painting, even one as vivid as this, was still just a painting. Her study returned to the holy Wizard and she found herself curious.

'So brave. Who was he? Why have we never heard of this?" asked Luna sadly, unquestioning of the truth of this mural.

The wisp seemed to shrug before it flitted back down to her and landed on her shoulder once more. Luna was thankful. She shivered. That image would be in her mind for some time. The dark being in the background... somehow he was more terrifying than any of the demons had been.

More terrifying than Voldemort.

"Lead on," she directed, and the wisp flitted as she continued, torches lighting up around her.

Another staircase took her further down, and another hallway similar to the one above was sufficient to steal the girl's sense of direction entirely. Three more staircases and hallways, had Luna thanking the stars that there was only _one_ pathway. She was cold, and it felt wet and dank here in these dark depths. Much like visiting Gringotts except older. More vast despite the closed walls around her. She asked no questions of the wisp. She could _feel_ the paintings on the walls and she wished to see none of them.

Yet another spiral staircase down, led her to yet another hallway. This one was different. Somehow she knew she had reached the last stretch of her summoning.

At the end of the hallway a red light pulsed, undulating in a way that light should not, and casting no shadow. No shadow could be darker than what resided before her.

For the first time, Luna hesitated. "M-must I?" she asked.

The light curled up to her neck again, its color changing to a comforting green. Warmth gave her a bit of hope in this dark place. Hogwarts wouldn't be the same knowing this chamber –no this _prison–_ resided beneath it. Whispers echoed and a sort of mist seemed to clutter her view. Things were twisted down here. Stones were twisted. The torch lights that lit for her as she walked now glowed a deep red red instead of the normal amber yellow.

'_Just like the fires in the painting,' _thought the now truly fearful girl.

After a moment's hesitation though, she continued onward.

Finally after what seemed an eternity, she came to the end of the hallway and found herself in another vast chamber. Circular, the room held four pillars stretching from floor to ceiling. At the center point between those pillars lay the source of the red glow.

Whispers flooded her ears. Unintelligible. She could make out none but they terrified her.

The red glow came from a gem, hewn in roughly the shape of a spike. It was driven through the skull of a human skeleton, which was only barely visible in the dim glow. She spotted it from a side view. She could not see past the thing's ribcage in the dank chamber but she suspected the entire body hung there.

The wisp left her once more, flying over to the skeleton. She'd been right. The back arched and the being's jaw was held wide open in a rictus of pain as if the human who had died what must have been an eternity ago, wished to to show that she was still in agony. Luna didn't know how she knew, but she could tell that the bones had once belonged to a woman. The light showed her that shackles bound the bones around the wrists, ankles and waist, each with chains attached to the four pillars surrounding her.

Even so, she knew the gem was the most important thing. Blood red. She felt like screaming just looking at it. Luna never wanted to come down here again. She was cold, and she felt like Dementors were toying with her soul. She thought she could hear her mother's voice in the whispers. Her mother wasn't malicious though.

Where was she? A torture chamber? No. No, this place was _binding something. _Hogwarts herself felt _pain_ from this place. Anguish. _Terror. _More knowledge that Luna knew, but didn't know how. Terror. That was important.

Tentatively walking further in she spotted runes, carved into every spare centimeter of the walls, and pillars. Bindings. She took a moment to scan them, in awe. Hundred and _hundreds _of binding runes.

"I don't like it here," she stuttered, coldly. She could see her breath in the dim glow. "Can I go back up now...?"

She turned to view the wisp once more, and then jerked in shock. Startled, she slid away like a frightened cat, and pressed her back flat against the stone wall eyes transfixed on the skeleton before her.

The skull... had turned to_ stare _at her.

Her nerve broke. Luna fled, full on running to get away, away, _away!_ She ran in a dead sprint all the way up the many flights of stairs she had descended. Past the mirror, through the inactive chessboard, up the trap door and straight down the hallway. She didn't stop until she reached Ravenclaw's dormitory, and she dove into her four post bed and hid under the covers, panting, and bawling to her roommates' shock.

Later, when she'd regained a bit of her senses, she realized what it was she had needed to see.

The blood red gemstone... there had been a crack.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore paced his office with the casual air of a man long accustomed to worrying his socks off. Something was happening. He _knew_ that something was wrong in the castle but he simply couldn't define what. Hogwarts... the castle had a way of intensifying when trouble was brewing and Dumbledore didn't think he'd felt this tense since the Third Task last year.

None of his alarms were tripping though, and he had no idea where in the castle his problem might arise.

But he knew... Somewhere in his castle he would be needed this night. Somewhere. Of course this inkling, this vague feeling of dread had only risen _after _he had allowed Madam Pomfrey her few days of leave. The woman had seemed terribly distraught over something so he'd seen fit to allow her an absence.

He deeply regretted that now.

"Fawkes?" he asked his fiery phoenix. The bird turned a curious eye to him and flew from his regal perch down to land upon Dumbledore's shoulder.

"Please be ready, my friend. I ask that you take me to wherever it is I will be needed this evening. I fear dalliance might prove unwise."

The bird seemed to nod.

* * *

Professor Umbridge sat in her study, nervously biting her fingernails. Shadows danced about the room, flickering and she had trouble not jumping at each one. Her eyes frantically crossed the pages of a well worn tome that she had discreetly checked out from the Ministry. The room was as brightly lit as she could make it, every candle burning at full flame and the wax fully restored. Despite the light though, the room was cold and felt of darkness and shadows. The kittens in the pictures didn't dance or meow as they normally would. Instead they huddled together, all in the smallest frame in the far corner of the room, terrified.

Candle fire danced to an unholy wind that shouldn't have been able to penetrate the closed room. It did anyway. The much larger fire in the hearth seemed to sizzle, rather than crackle as a fire should.

"...conclude that the most probable cause for hearing voices is _Rowena's Syndro_–_Bollocks!" _the woman hissed, slamming the book closed, in an echo that pierced the rolling whistle of wind which now uselessly pounded at the windows for freedom.

_Hide the locket; keep it secret; keep it safe. Hide it... hide it! Take it away from this place, or I shall do it for you..._

The words had been the first true words she could remember the voice saying. Before it had only been the whispering. C_easeless _whispering in her ear. But only yesterday had the whispers actually coalesced into an understandable voice. She'd heard them the moment Harry Potter had left her office the last night. The moment she started to believe that _maybe _he wasn't lying after all.

The book in her wrinkled fingers was titled, "Disorders of the Mind: A Case Study." Hatefully she tossed it onto the desk with more anger than it deserved. It fell atop a pile of no less than ten others all subtly bought or in some cases outright _stolen._

Sweat trailed down her brow in a steady flow and she let her head sink into her hand, rubbing uselessly at her forehead. A splitting headache pulsed in her mind, biting away at her ability to think, like a lion gnawing on a gazelle.

_You are losing..._

Delores, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, froze hearing that hideous voice in her mind once more.

She'd been hearing the voice, mere whispers in her mind for months now. At first she'd thought they were just figments of her imagination. Wicked whispers, telling her to do things. Suggesting... but the suggestions might as well have been orders at times. They'd been manageable annoyances. Until yesterday. Until her blasted conversation with Potter. After that the whispers became a full blown voice that simply wouldn't _shut up. _Delores would never admit it to another living soul... but she was frightened.

"What _are _you!?" she hissed, knowing that the voice wouldn't answer. Her eyes watered. Suppressing the painful need to _obey_ that had been plaguing her for what seemed an eternity, she tore her mind away from the soul crushing fear of _losing. _She didn't even know what would happen to her if she ever _did _lose. She didn't want to know. The harsh baritone of sickening male laughter was the answer she received and she shuddered. Then, she snarled. Her will found the dominance that it had always held and crushed the unusual _pressure_ that had been forcing itself against her mind ever since she had entered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As it had done many times. As it would do many times more until she found a cure.

She hoped...

"Dumbledore... his bloody mind games. It must be. The old bastard probably cursed me with some form of Dementia." She hissed aloud. "I won't be beaten by some senile old man's curse. Twisted... bastard."

The insane voice in her head began to howl, as if she'd just told the best joke in the world. It unnerved her. She found herself teetering on the edge of the precarious position of dominance she had gained in her own mind. How long? How long must she listen to this madman, barking orders in her mind?

_Yes... Dumbledore's curse. That's what I am. Dumbledore. Your control slips more by the minute. You won't betray my secrets, Toad. Now 'bow!'_

To Delores, the word felt like the beat of a thousand drums melded into one. It echoed in her ears and she shook with wobbly legs, even seated in the chair as she was. The wind rushed, filling the office with its angry howl. The candles all abruptly snuffed leaving the only the crackling of the now entirely green fire in the hearth. In the corner, the kittens mewled.

Delores was not intimidated. Darkness. What a pitiful tactic.

"I won't bend so easily..." the old woman hissed. She thrust her hand forward in anger, feeling magic rush forward and out of her fingertips. Wandless, her own ability would've utterly shocked her only three short months ago. Not any longer. As abruptly as they had been snuffed, the same candles burst into life, each one burning even brighter than before. "I will figure out what you are, and I will rid myself of you."

A creaking noise filled the room with the sound of twisting copper like the gears of a rusted windup clock. Delores listened to the strange sound and followed it to its source which was... around her neck?

'_Could it be?' _she thought, incredulously.

Reaching into her shirt she touched the inlaid silver locket that she had bought from a despicable bag of flesh in Bitterthorn Alley. She'd been _amazed_ when she'd found the piece. Being sold by a complete idiot for a measly two hundred pounds. He had _no idea _what he'd been selling, and she'd been happy to talk him down to a hundred thirty five for the locket that had belonged to _the Salazar Slytherin _himself.

She was a Ravenclaw of course, through and through, but she knew an item of value and power when she saw it. And the sorting hat _had so _wanted her in Slytherin. A purveyor of antiques in her spare time, the ancient locket of Slytherin had been in many priceless antique books she'd pursued over the years. Seeing it on the coat of Mundungus Fletcher had almost made her retch out her lunch when she'd happened across him a few weeks before her term at Hogwarts began.

Even now she had doubts as to whether it was the original or just an incredible duplicate but she had worn the locket almost constantly since the start of the year. Only now did she make a connection between that and the voices. She'd been so sure, –_so utterly certain!– _that Dumbledore had been behind her maddening evenings and her terrifying dreams that she hadn't even considered that it could be the mysterious locket she had picked up.

'_Cursed?' _the ugly woman trembled. Fear at the thought that she'd been wearing a cursed item for _months_ warred with utter indignation that someone would curse Salazar Slytherin's prized locket! Who would do such a thing to a marvelous antique like this? A priceless artefact ruined.

She hissed and yanked the thing up to pull it out from around her neck. Pain surged through her chest and the locket sizzled as if it were welding itself to her skin. Shocked she fell out of her chair and onto the floor. The laughter sounded in her mind again.

"I... will _not_ be the puppet of some cursed _jewelry_," the woman's will was like a physical being. She grasped the precious silver in her hand and braced herself for the pain. She began to pull.

_Fire _coursed through her veins, but she persevered. She'd blackmailed, and wrenched throats. She'd crawled up from the depths of her station in one of the most minor of pureblood houses to become second in command in all of Great Britain.

She grit her teeth, thinking of all the trials of her long life. A friend since first year, abandoned for her her ambition. Family, forgotten on the quest for power. She had crawled through mires more powerful than this. After all her accomplishments, could she possibly fall here? No. Not her. Not Delores Jane Umbridge.

The amulet _budged_. She screamed, her back arching in a rictus of pain. Her eyes watered relentlessly and she growled. This was nothing. She could handle this and more.

Memories flashed of a run in with Aurors during the war. Corrupted Aurors she'd been assured, rotting in the grave now, but they were memories of her first time casting the killing curse. She remembered the hideous pain of the cruciatus curse... The even sharper pain of watching as her lover was killed in front of her.

Lifting her wand despite the pain of such a dreadful curse had been the worst moment of her life. Next to that, this bauble welded to her chest with magic that tore at her flesh was still much like a pinprick. Casting the Killing curse. Ending her own pain to her captor's surprise. At the time, the feeling of liberation had felt wondrous. In rage she killed and in rage she killed again, until all four of the shocked aurors that had come to kill her and her death eater husband lay dead at her feet.

Never mind that he had been forced to take the mark. Never mind that he had betrayed the Dark Lord! He'd always been brave, her Aaron.

It was why she had joined the ministry in the first place. Why she had become so hard. Corruption would not be tolerated. She wouldn't have Aurors that forsook their duties and she had done well in that regard, placing herself in the Operational Investigation section, weeding out the dirty Aurors in the ministry. Then she'd been promoted. And told a _horrible secret._

Albus Dumbledore was raising an army of _children! _It was disgusting. Worse even than corruption among the aurors. An anarchist seeking to bring down the ministry all this time. And if he succeeded all her achievements would come to ruin. Corrupt aurors was one thing, but Albus Dumbledore had planned to corrupt an entire generation!

Well, that wouldn't do. For years now she'd worked to subdue the dissent Dumbledore was sowing with the ministry. Dedicating her life to the preservation of law and justice. She never remarried. Fifteen years later most people didn't think she'd ever _been _married. Hell, sometimes she herself forgot. But the resolve that had burned so strongly within her then, still shined. She wouldn't falter.

But last night had changed that... just a little. She remembered being a young girl. Remembered Dumbledore's kind eyes as he taught her Transfiguration. And she felt that shred of doubt in Fudge's belief... Harry Potter. The boy seemed so heartbroken over Cedric Diggory's death. The sheer honesty, so rare in her line of work, shined like a beacon that Umbridge had trouble ignoring.

'_Voldemort is _dead,' she seethed in her mind, drawing strength from her conviction. _'Harry Potter is a zealot and Dumbledore is a mad fool to believe him!' _

Again the locket budged. Again _agony _sheared through her. She felt as if she were pulling out out her own eye.

"_A strong will... Strong. Pureblood. I have heavily underestimated you," _the words were far more calm then they had been before. What was happening?

A sickening flow began to spread into her. It seeped from her chest outward mimicking a full body bind with the added sensation of slime. She pulled harder and the locket budged another inch a whole side popping up from her skin. Relief flooded her so strongly that she nearly dropped the bloody necklace right back down. Still it was a victory She was doing it! She would break this wretched curse and be done with it!

But the poison beneath her skin flowed up her shoulder and down her arm. Under the deep sweater she couldn't see what was happening there and she couldn't spare the effort to look. She had to concentrate. Again the locket budged! She was winning!

_I am Lord Voldemort... _

Delores's heart skipped a beat and she almost lost her desperate hold on Salazar's cursed locket. That voice had felt much more personal than before. Closer, almost like it was someone hovering behind her, whispering in her ear.

_And I find you _worthy_. You are mine._

The poisonous flow that had seeped into her arm suddenly turned into a sharp jabbing knife. Cold, it felt like some sort of outline, carving out a section of her skin in a heinous pattern. Sharp. Her hard earned control slipped. Still shocked at hearing the male voice in her head claim it was the _dark lord. _Sweaty fingers slid desperately but failed to hold as the locket _snapped_ back onto her chest and poison flowed anew.

She sunk onto her desk, slouching over it, drained. Her chair squeaked with the move.

'_My forearm...?' _the thought pierced more sharply than even the now faded pain. She trembled. Her pink sweater was no comfort, and she realized suddenly that she was _boiling_ within it. That didn't matter. Her _arm._

Tentatively she pulled the sleeve up her arm.

"Oh god..." the old woman shook, seeing her own doom as each tug at the pink sleeve revealed a clearer picture of what was drawn beneath.

_The Dark Mark._

His laughter echoed in her mind. Many would've blubbered in denial. Many would've screamed in terror. Not Madam Umbridge. Umbridge _snarled. _Even in her rage, she'd always been a practical woman. She did what needed to be done. The room flashed with the light of a spell. A soft thump was followed by a squelching plop, and a pain filled scream. Blood mixed with the candle wax.

Inexplicably, she was standing. Her chair was pushed back against the wall. The kittens in the pictures meowed relentlessly, hissing and braying in a rage that was not natural to them.

"_Claim me now, monster," _Umbridge taunted, grimacing with effort. She knew her enemy now. Knew him to her bones. The man who had written his signature on her husband's soul. The cause of her anguish and all her loneliness for these long years.

Blood dribbled freely from the bony flesh that ended in an unnaturally perfect stub just below her elbow. On the floor, her severed forearm was soaked in it.

Umbridge was pale, and the adrenaline that had led her instantaneous decision was fading. Her arm _burned_, but even now it was distant compared to the knowledge that she had won a slight victory. Temporary. Small. But she was _not_ a death eater. The poison was gone.

Black flecks fluttered across her vision.

_Fool! You would die? _

'_I will never be yours,' _she replied, firmly but the words were tempered by her fleeing conscious. She was a small woman. She didn't have much blood to begin with. _'It was the easiest choice in the world.'_

She slumped forward, falling down and trying to catch herself on the desk. Her hand, no longer present, failed to catch her and she tumbled to the stone floor atop her own severed limb.

_The locket will not fall into Dumbledore's hands... if you won't serve in life, then with your death I shall be revived. Your conviction, however idiotic, is admirable. You will be remembered. Toad._

Her last thought before conscious fled her was guilt and regret. Harry... he'd been so very right.

If only she'd believed him.

* * *

"_Harry!" _Hermione screamed, feeling the cut on her shoulder begin to ease. It was a very light cut, but surprising when unexpected. Still, she knew that something was wrong.

"H-Hermione?"

"Ron, we've got to go. Harry's in trouble!" Hermione exclaimed, ignoring the starts of surprise from everyone else littering the common room.

"H-How d'you know?" Ron seemed doubtful, but he was already releasing her and walking towards the portrait hole.

"No time to explain! Come on! I... I'm really worried," the girl replied. What was this feeling? God her shoulder stung, but she could tell the cut she felt, and the pain from it were minimal compared to Harry feeling the true effects. What was Umbridge doing to him?

_"I'll kill her," _thought the usually level-headed Gryffindor. _"If she's hurt Harry I swear I'll murder that woman." _

She and Ron took off down the hallways, oblivious to the startled looks they had left behind. The Golden Trio had another adventure to get to.

As they raced through the halls, barrelling down anyone in their way without so much as a second thought, Hermione felt hard touches all over her body. Harry was rolling? Maybe–!

Searing pain blazed through her leg, and she tumbled to the ground with a scream, catching herself but bruising her palms harshly on the stone floor. The christmas carols of the knights of armor echoed distantly in the background.

_"Oh god, my leg!" _She screamed, scrambling to get a look at what had stabbed her.

Blood, once more fell down her her calf just below her knee.

"Bloody Hell Hermione! Wh-what's happening to you?" Ron exclaimed worriedly, staring down at her bloody sweater's sleeve, and then back to her now soaked socks and denim pant leg.

"Its... I think its something to do with Harry. I don't... understand it myself yet," she murmured, mentally pushing the pain away. It wasn't so bad. God it felt like her whole leg had been lobbed off but...

"H-Help me up. He's in real trouble Ron... Please, we have to hurry."

Ron, brave boy that he was, didn't hesitate. His hand went behind Hermione's back, allowing her to throw an arm over his shoulder, and the girl was up, hobbling on her good leg in moments. In a few steps, the girl was practically running right along with him.

"Dammit Harry," Ron voiced, his tone worried, yet unwilling to be cowed. "You promised that _I'd _get to kill Umbridge..."

Through the pain, Hermione laughed.

They hurried on.

* * *

Harry was aware that something was amiss upon entering the room. No one particular thing gave him this information but rather an amalgam of small facts that subconsciously registered in his mind. The way the kittens all had their ears laid low. Hissing. The candles, every one of them burning unnaturally bright. The soft scent of blood in the air.

"Professor Umbridge?" he called, feeling the chill of wind that seemed out of place.

The intense feeling of hatred was his only warning as he dived to the left.

'_Avada Kedavra!' _

The spell came from a decidedly male voice, emanating from one of the back rooms. Sinister, and low, yet recognizable to Harry. A voice he'd heard before years ago.

His wand whipped out mid dive as he slammed into the wall on his right, carving his shoulder against one of the cat's picture frames to avoid the oncoming killing curse. This time he knew what he was fighting. What danger he was in. A figure, stepped out from the room. Older, perhaps nineteen, rather than the young boy he had been when Harry first met him, Tom Marvolo Riddle carried with him an air of command that would make generals weeps in envy.

"Harry Potter," the man hissed. Powerful yet still not possessing the horrifying baritone of his current embodiment.

Harry glared. Potent rage brewed in his eyes, but for once he wasn't afraid. Last year he had fought Voldemort himself and found himself with the upper hand. That was a fully powered Voldemort. This man, boy only four or five years his senior, was no Voldemort. He held an inferior wand, Umbridge's which very well might not even work for him. His eyes didn't glow red. His hair, slicked back and fiendishly styled reminded Harry more of Malfoy than it did of the Dark Lord this man had become.

"I've been waiting for the chance to–!"

Harry didn't give one shit what this phantom had to say.

"_Aqua Eructo!" _

Three jets of water sprang to life spouting from Harry's wand each flowing in different directions with enough pressure to sear skin from flesh. Tom's eyes widened as the jets of water splashed through him. Harry grimaced as the water bore a hole through the desk behind his opponent but that didn't stop him. Spells from books half read suddenly came to his instantly alert mind. He couldn't hit the phantom. It was just like the chamber in second year, which meant he had to find the object. Unfortunately the wizard could cast spells at him, so he needed cover.

"Insolent boy! _Avada Kedavra!" _

"_Caliga Nox!" _Harry responded with a spell he had never cast before. Barely recalled from the corner of a page in one of the many defense books he had scoured in order to better teach the DA, he cast the spell hoping he was doing it right. Magic flowed through him and from the tip of his wand a dark, yet shiny mass seemed to bloat. Like a rememberall that contained a thundercloud, a glass bubble expanded to obscure him from view. Harry dived out of the way of the death spell, rolling towards the corner of the room as the cloud of darkness enveloped his body entirely.

"_Limbuscindo!" _

Despite the covering, Tom's aim was true. Harry felt a cut slice his leg and blinding pain seared through him. He spasmed, and fell to the ground. The blazing sound of three more spells hitting the wall behind him kept him alert but his body screamed. What kind of curse was that!?

He rose to his good right foot and part hobbled, part rolled away from the next string of curses to flow from Tom's wand. The _Caliga Nox _spell covering him surely the only thing keeping him alive, but he had to keep moving!

'_Avada Ke–!' _

The boy stopped mid cast as a flash of flames burst on the other side of the room.

"_TOM!_" Dumbledore's booming anger, and Harry couldn't help the sigh of relief that flooded through him. He and Dumbledore may have been on the outs this year but Harry had never been more thankful to hear the old man's voice.

'Dumbledore! Ha! You're too late... the old witch is on the brink of death, and soon I shall live, while her body perishes. And what can you do old man?" the boy gloated, eerily reminiscent of this sixteen year old self in the chamber of secrets.

Dumbledore laid one eye on Harry, apparently able to see through his darkness spell and meeting his eyes. For but a sparse moment, the professor's eyes held pure anguish. Then eyes suddenly turned dark. Harry jumped, momentarily forgetting the scalding pain in his leg as the change came over the headmaster. Dumbledore's eyes went like thunderclouds. His posture suddenly screamed like an enraged bear. His hand gripped his wand tight and a snarl curled his features into something ugly and painful. Something foreign.

"How _dare_ you...!"The headmaster hissed, rage stealing away his normal eloquence.

'_Come on Harry. Can't just lay here,' _the boy thought. _'He's killing Umbridge. You've got to stop him! What is it? What's the item?' Come on!'_

Fearfully, he raised himself, feeling the obscuring thundercloud move to accommodate his rise. He spared a short glance at his leg and shuddered. The bone was severed. He balanced on one foot, his left leg attached at only half the shin, much like Nearly Headless Nick. Blood poured onto the floor.

'_He's taken my leg!' _the boy panicked, unable to stop the wave of fear that flooded through him. _'Nearly Legless Potter!' _

Dumbledore didn't remain idle. His eyes, hard in a way that Harry had never before known, could've lit bonfires. The man raised his wand and aimed it, to Harry's surprise, towards the ground.

"_DOL," _said a voice of power that Harry could scarcely recognize as the Headmaster. Upon the stone floor a rune appeared. Harry had never seen the shape before, but to him it had the shape a star that someone painted and then disfigured by running a hand across the page before it was allowed to dry.

"_UM,"_ Dumbledore continued without pause, this time aiming for one of the walls on the far side of the rune. A jet of blue light flashed to impact the stone wall and the sound of burning iron came in tandem with Tom Riddle's scream.

"You would try to _bind me?" _the shade of Voldemort hissed in anger. _"_You think I am a demon? _Obscuro!_" His spell erased the _DOL_ rune that had appeared at Dumbledore's feet. The new symbol on the wall to Harry's left though, shone like a glowing ember, two wavy horizontal lines intersected by a third vertical one.

"It seems to be working." Dumbledore replied in kind. "_DOL. BER._"

The words had power which Harry had never before felt. _DOL_ enchanted the ground at Dumbledore's feet once more while the new rune, _BER_ flew _through_ the fade of Voldemort to impact upon the other side of the wall.

Tom snarled, and raised his stolen wand. _'Obscuros'_ filled the air.

As Dumbledore and Riddle fought, one laying runes, and the other obscuring them faster than they could do any good, Harry felt himself falling in and out of consciousness. He'd already lost too much blood. Dazedly, he rolled onto his back and lifted the leg onto a chair next to one of the desks. The nearly severed leg flopped grotesquely but the pain was minimal. He couldn't feel it very strongly anymore, which worried him more than he cared to admit. He felt cold, and knew that his face had grown pale. His grip on his wand was growing lax. He had to 'do' something but for the life of him he couldn't think of what.

From the floor he saw Madam Umbridge sprawled out on the underside of her desk. Her skin was a pasty white, that made him feel downright colorful by comparison. He scanned her for signs of life but found that she was only barely moving. Older. Far more disgusting, but still she was just like Ginny had been in the chamber. No. Ginny hadn't been laying in a pool of blood. By god, how had her arm been cut off?! The woman had a healed stub of an arm cut just below her elbow.

"Just when I was finally getting through to her," thought the dark haired boy, gaining a bit of strength as his resolve to win, to live, grew. He lifted his wand slowly so as not to draw attention. He'd seen Dumbledore's wand movements. Perhaps he could...

_"DOL."_ Copying the professor's wand movements he spoke softly but the word boomed through the room anyway, adding an extra rune to those Tom was desperately striving to obscure. His was a bit uglier than Dumbledore's. A bit weaker, but it worked.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed to him for a moment, and the ghost of a smile crossed his face.

_"IST,"_ Dumbledore thundered in tandem with Harry's _"UM."_ The symbol looked the easiest to picture, and Harry's looked almost as potent as Dumbledore's.

Tom's eyes were wide as he finished erasing Dumbledore's "DOL" rune but was too late to destroy Harry's as well. The runeset completed, and the four words of power seemed to grow so bright that the rest of the room darkened.

"_Chains of Honor! Come forth and bind that which darkens this place..." _Dumbledore intoned. A ritual?

Chains slid from the runes, as if sliding out of the stone itself, writhing like _Incarcerous_ bonds but these were thick. Each metal linked chain was almost twice the size of Harry's arm in width, and they rattled ominously, the sound of metal rattlesnakes. One at a time they sprung for the wraith of Voldemort who found himself unable to dodge or even move. The first chain came from behind him and draped itself over his shoulder, bearing down upon him, then digging itself into the stone floor at its feet. Tom braced himself against the weight with a grunt, but hissed in pain as the second fell across his other shoulder, the two chains alone bearing him down.

_'Sectumsempra!' 'Avada Kedavra' 'Avada Kedavra!'_ The curses sailed towards Dumbledore in links of light, but Dumbledore evaded them with ease. The old man was grinning.

"Damn you, Potter!" the man screamed as the third chain coiled itself around his waist before it too sunk into the floor. Tom fell to his knees struggling against the oppressive weight of Dumbledore's rune magic.

"If I'm to be destroyed... then I'll take the chosen one with me..." He hissed as the final chain began to coil around his legs.

Dumbledore's eyes widened, and he turned. "Look out, Harry!"

Tom's wand was so fast. Harry rolled, but his scarcely attached limb sent a spray of mind numbing pain through him, that immobilized him. The green light of the killing curse that would claim his life erupted from Umbridge's wand. He had just enough time to shield his eyes...

"_Harry!" _came a girl's voice, which drew his eyes to the door that had slammed open, unnoticed by the three occupants until now. Horror crossed Harry's features as a bushy haired girl hobbled at a gallop between Voldemort's shade and himself. Her outline was darkened by green light that illuminated her form, but Harry knew her immediately. "Hermione, No–!"

_By my soul, You'll not kill him. I'll die before I let you kill him!_

A neon green nova of light that mixed with a translucent blue mana that seemed to spawn from nowhere filled the room with nearly blinding, stinging winds.

Harry _wailed. _

Pain fled, its place filled by rage. Heedless of his nearly missing limb, the area between himself and his friend seemed to _vanish_. Harry hovered slightly off the ground, his barely attached leg hanging like a rotten apple that hadn't yet left the tree. He made eye contact with the man who would become Lord Voldemort and he sneered. Time itself seemed to slow as the boy rounded Hermione. The girl's arms were spread wide to shield Harry from the killing curse, and as he saw her face, he knew that he would never be able to love her enough. Friendship strong enough to split the world in twain.

Something was, different. Odd. He felt a strong tugging upon his heart, as if something were impacting him like a bludgeoner. Blue light seeped from his body and outlined that of Hermione, and as he stepped around her Harry saw why. The Avada Kedavra curse seemed to be _stuck_, as if afraid of Harry's advance, lodged within the lower side of Hermione's neck, and held back by a thin barrier of blue. It looked to him like a '_Protego' _that had been stretched flush against Hermione's skin.

_Anything to keep it from her. If my death is needed, then that is that._

Harry didn't hesitate. He _grabbed_ the pulsing beam of death.

As if in worry, the blue light protecting Hermione's fragile neck leapt off the girl and circled his hand, confining the green spell like a baseball in a mitt. Harry wasted no time as he rounded upon the young dark lord, eyes sparkling with electric power.

Tom's eyes widened. "H-How!?"

Harry gave him no time to ponder. Confined by the chains, and unable to lift the stolen wand or defend himself, the fade had just a moment to let loose a howl of despair as Harry reared back and physically hurled the killing curse back at him.

His aim was true. It took but a moment from the time the green curse impacted upon Tom's horror stricken face for his false body to evaporate. He burst into green flames, writhing like a agony as his skin melted into the air in moments. A skeletal black projection was left behind, it too writhing in the unbearable green flames that stole its life, before it burned away just as quickly as the flesh had. All that remained was a tiny locket with a blazing silver S, hovering in midair. It pulsed once, another burst of light shimmering about the room. Harry didn't flinch, but Dumbledore shielded his eyes. Hermione remained frozen in death.

Then, the locket exploded like a muggle grenade, scorching the desk to cinders. The chains that had immobilized Tom blasted apart, links shattering one at a time to rain esper and ether across the floor like four metal fuses.

The candles in the room winked out.

Harry had just enough sense to turn around and catch the paralyzed body of his dear friend as her wide eyes closed.

They both fell...

Dumbledore only vaguely noted a leatherbound book on the floor, scorched beyond any hope of recovery. His eyes remained riveted on the pair of Gryffindor's and the slack-jawed Ron Weasley at the doorway. More than anything he could not stop staring at the lightning bolt cut on Hermione Granger's neck.

* * *

Ronald Weasley sat in the infirmary in between the beds of his two best friends and did an admirable job of preventing tears from simply _pouring_ down his face.

He failed, but his effort was admirable.

His chair was uncomfortable but he didn't care about that. It had been almost a day since he'd watched Hermione step in front of the killing curse and watched his life twist itself on end. The gut wrenching _horror_ of watching Hermione nearly die had put a steel shard into his spine that he couldn't remove. Hermione... god how he loved to see her smile. Seeing her laying there, motionless but for the rise and fall of her chest reminded him painfully of second year, and even more painfully of the botched Yule ball last year.

The simple truth of it was that he was a complete idiot.

For months he'd been dancing with a newfound fondness for Hermione, that he hadn't really even been able to put a name to. They argued more than ever but those arguments stood out like a firestorm in a haze of dull rain that was their Fifth year. He _loved_ arguing with Hermione. He loved watching her passion, and even when she was spewing Her SPEW nonsense he loved that heavy exasperation that came over him. She was Hermione. It was her way.

He'd taken for granted that she would always be there.

It was strange how simple it was to see it when she was lying in a bed having narrowly survived the killing curse –_the bloody killing curse!– _what he had been so very blind to before.

He loved her.

Ronald Weasley was damn near head over heels in love with Hermione Granger. And damn him if he wasn't going to take the second chance that she'd been given. It had been too close. Far too close. He wouldn't wait till their next brush with death to let the girl know how he felt.

"_Get ready, old heart. Its time to leap. Come on Hermione... you've got to wake up. I might not be brave enough to do this tomorrow!" _

She didn't. She slept soundly, her breaths coming in a smooth even rhythm, curiously synched with Harry's on Ron's other side.

Slowly, Ron bent down to Hermione's forehead and laid a gentle kiss there, before he turned his red eyes to Harry.

"Mate, you are a bloody badass, I reckon," he said, trying to lighten his own mood. "You both are... I don't even..."

_Hermione crashing into the room, taking in the situation with but a blink of the eye. Harry on the ground bloody, his leg nearly severed. Hermione leaping forward, without hesitation or fear..._

_Harry, heedless of his wounded limb, moving so fast as if to apparate as the Avada Kedavra curse shot towards Hermione's form. The thin blue barrier that held the death curse in place, its tail catching up to leave it pinned against Hermione's neck. Only a sparse second. Harry, grabbing the death ball and tossing it back, eyes shining with lighting..._

_...Ron Weasley standing in the doorway. Slack jawed. Useless. _

"Harry... How can I ever live up to you?"

Ron sat back down in the uncomfortable chair.

He waited, his eyes ever lingering on his best friends' lightning bolt scars. His stomach growled. He'd ignored it for a long time... over a day now. Much longer without food and he'd probably be sitting in bed with the two, and Umbridge across the room.

It didn't matter. He wasn't hungry.

* * *

She walked down a crystalline staircase, that she recognized easily. It had always been a stone staircase before, but the fact that it was suddenly crafted of shining diamond that glittered in beautiful sunlight did not seem odd or strange in this place. Each step made an echo as if she were inside a great hallway, but she wasn't. At the foot of the stairs was the Hogwarts grounds, grass blowing in a pleasant breeze. It too was made of flimsy white crystal.

She turned and looked up to see the castle, and was once again unsurprised by its ethereal demeanor. It shined like gold upon a sea of shimmering glass. Fairies flew, glowing as bright as the wondrous sunlight, and dancing with the birds that haunted the high towers. It was the midst of spring, when Hogwarts looked its most beautiful.

It was her favorite place, but despite the crystalline nature, she found that it was different from what it should be. The grounds, which normally should've contained the quidditch pitch, instead held something different. The Burrow lay before her. The steepled building leaned as if happily bearing the weight of the many generations of Weasleys that had lain beneath its hallowed roof.

She felt welcome. These were her favorite places.

_'That's not right...' _thought a mild voice in the back of her mind, but it went largely ignored.

Idly, she turned to her left and her eyes beheld a beautiful girl. Older than her but shorter, the girl was a fantasy. Naturally tan skin melded with a waterfall of midnight black hair, and dark eyes. She wore dark colored Ravenclaw robes and her entire form mingled with the crystal background in a dazzling display of memory and beauty.

"Cho, you look amazing!" she gushed and her words echoed as if sung aloud in a canyon.

The crystalline features of the world seemed to... _shift._ As if by magic the crystal was transformed into snow before her eyes. Again, nothing felt strange about this.

Cho blushed a crimson color that suited her rosey cheeks. "Hermione, I'm wearing school robes. _No one _looks amazing in those."

She circled the Ravenclaw stepping up and down the stone stairs to wander around her and look her over. "Have you checked your facts? I know at least one girl who does," she replied to the asian with a not so subtle leer.

The girl flushed and grinned. "Oh Hermione,"

"No, I'm serious! Hey, its cold out, want to come inside?" she asked.

Cho's perked up, and she nodded emphatically. "Sure!"

The scene shifted, though nothing seemed odd about this. One moment she was outside, examining the beautiful Ravenclaw seeker and the next they were inside the Burrow, both together inside the room she'd been given there ever since the Weasley's had adopted her as near enough one of their own.

'_What? I'm not family of the Weasley's. Not that close anyway...' _the words came from the back of her mind but were once again ignored.

There was a difference though. It was as if her room were connected to the living room, which was impossible, yet not at all strange. A fire crackled warmly in the sitting room, heat wafting into the dining area where they both stood. Surprisingly there was a stew on the table, two bowls for the both of them as if someone had laid it out knowing they'd be chilly whenever they came in. Hermione grinned. Cho would definitely like Molly's stew!

'_Hermione. Yes, that's who I am. Hermione Granger.' _

She walked forward to the table and sat, noting a small letter left upon the table beside the two bowls of soup.

"_Hermione Dear,_

_We've gone out for some late Christmas shopping. Didn't expect to have Cho staying with us for the holiday's you understand, so we needed to get a few extra things. It is likely that we shall be back late in the evening, so I've left some hot stew out for you. Do be a dear and show Cho to her rooms, will you? She'll be staying with you. I do hope you don't mind, but I can't very well put her with any of my boys now can I? I know they're the untrustworthy sort. _

_I'll expect you to be a perfect gentleman for her, and make her feel as welcome as possible. _

_With Love,_

_Molly Weasley_

A subtle blush crossed Hermione's cheeks. Cho would be staying with... _her? _In the same room? That was improper! But... at the same time... A devilish little thought wound its way up her mind as the thought of Cho disrobing in her room sent a flutter up her spine. She couldn't stop a slightly subtle leer in the older girl's direction.

"_What's improper about it?" _thought the voice in the back of her mind, but yet again it failed to gain any traction in Hermione's higher thought processes. Then another thought came to mind. _"Gentleman?" _

Hermione paused. Gentleman? Why would Molly call her a gentleman? Rereading the letter she shrugged. Must've been a typo.

"Looks like you'll be staying with me." She said to the girl behind her with a devilish wink. "Wanna see my humble abode?"

"_Was that flirting? Am I flirting with Cho Chang?" _

"W-with you? I could think of worse things..." the girl replied in an embarrassed yet slightly sultry manner.

"_I AM flirting with Cho Chang!"_

Once again the voice went ignored.

The scene shifted once more, the intervening stairs between the sitting room and Hermione's bedroom flashing through like memories of events that never happened. The world blurred into view, and suddenly, she and Cho sat on the bed, happily noting that Molly had gotten her a queen sized at some point during the school year. The sitting room was gone, and now the room looked as it normally should save for the oversized bed.

The next thing she noticed was Cho's lips firmly attached to her own.

She melted like putty into the older girl's kiss, and felt herself pushed down to lie on her back, still attached to the other girl at the mouth. Her feet dangled lightly off the bed, sock-covered toes just able to touch the wooden floor. Those toes curled as the black haired asian's hands began to explore her, tongue invading her lips to twirl around her own like a sensual candy.

'_Mmmm, she has good hands. H-hey! That's my boob!" _the voice in the back of Hermione's mind seemed just as flustered as she was.

What was happening here?

Cho's lips left hers and the girl rose a little bit. She threw a leg over Hermione and lay happily atop the bushy haired girl with a rather naughty glint in her eyes. Hermione took the moment to glance at the girl and note that her Ravenclaw robes had been discarded in favor of something far more flattering.

"_Slutty, you mean." _

She wore a rather simple muggle tank top colored red, that accentuated her ample chest, and a pair of tight black pants that Hermione was certain she'd worn herself once. Then, the girl leaned down close to her ear, her breasts pressing pleasantly into her own, slightly smaller ones.

"Hermione... I've fancied you for a long time now, you know?" she whispered huskily, and wriggled, setting Hermione's chest on fire.

"You... fancy me? I'm not all that special," Hermione replied somewhat somberly.

"_Why in bloody hell would you fancy another gir–oh, god keep doing that!" _the voice's protests melted into a murmur of coos and cute mewls as the raven-haired Ravenclaw laid a sensual assault upon her body. She lowered her lips to Hermione's neck and began to rain kisses down upon it.

"Ch-Cho? Uhm... what if the Weasley's get back? And uggg–" Hermione's words guttered and died as Cho relieved herself of her shirt, exposing a neon red bra, that clasped her breasts very nicely.

"So... Sexy..."

"_Ew! I don't like girls!" _sobered the voice in her mind as her eyes focused upon the orbs, covered only by thin red cloth.

For the first time, Hermione took note of the voice. Don't like girls? That was ridiculous. Of _course, _she liked girls! The alternative was that she liked boys and that was simply unfathomable! Why upstanding sort of man would like blokes–!

She stopped, shocked. She was a girl. She was Hermione Granger. And Hermione Granger liked Ron Weasley.

Finally the true Hermione within and the exposed outer skin had similar thoughts, and they blasted through the piecemeal of this faux reality like a lightning bolt. Suddenly both girls became one, her mind suddenly focused on a problem and quickly finding a solution. In moments, she realized _exactly_ what had happened.

Two immediate facts came to her mind that were somehow beyond question. The first, was that she was dreaming, and it wasn't _her_ dream. Instead, she was filling the shoes of Harry James Potter, in his own fantasy. A _Soul Bond. _Of course they would share more than just touches!

Her eyes snapped open and she bolted upright to a view of the Hogwarts hospital wing. Her expression was a mingled outrage with a flushed embarrassment that shouldn't have been possible so soon after sleep. She didn't take into account her surroundings. She didn't care who heard. Injustice was flouting itself in her friend's mind and she would see it rectified in only the truest and oldest of ways...

...Righteous feminine fury.

"Harry Potter, you _pervert!" _

"H-Hermione!" came a surprised voice.

Male. Warm, it made Hermione's cheeks blush, and she blinked, coming to herself with a sudden start. What had she just shouted?

"Hermione..." this time, there was no surprise. Instead Ron's voice was filled with a relief the likes of which she'd never heard. He looked haggard. The bags under his eyes had bags of their own. His clothes seemed dirty, and his voice was haggard and cracky as if it had gone unused for quite some time.

Abruptly, he was before her, kneeling at her bedside, his arms wrapped lovingly around her, his face burried into her shoulder, his embrace tight and comforting. He smelled a little, but Hermione had never felt cleaner.

"R-Ron..."

"You terrified me. I thought I was going to lose you. Bollocks! Both of you! Why would you do that Hermione...?"

His face was buried in her shoulder, and she could feel a wetness spreading there as he tried to hide the quakes his body was involuntarily undergoing. Ron Weasley? Crying?

"Ron I..." Her arms found themselves unconsciously folding around him, comfort oozing off her in waves equal to the guilt she felt within.

"Hermione. I think I love you... Please. Don't do that again. _Please?" _

Hermione's heart swelled. It flooded. Such simple words, uttered over a tearful visage had Hermione dancing inside. Even as she bathed in his embrace, she felt the stained touches of the Faux Cho flowing away to be replaced by wondrous, _real_ Ronald Weasley.

She lifted him off her, to gaze into his eyes and found such sincerity there. Such heartbreaking joy. She had leapt to give her life for Harry, and not even thought of what that might do to Ron. What did that say about her...?

She didn't want to think. Didn't want to dwell on this strange twist her life had taken. Cho's hands that had made her feel so good and so dirty at the same time. But they had done one thing right. One thing that she could learn from. She took a page from Harry's Dream and kissed the weeping boy soundly. Surprise lasted only a moment before Ron deepened the kiss, melting further into her arms...

Nearby, Harry's sleeping form cracked a silent grin as the Cho of his dreams relieved herself of her undies.

* * *

Madam Umbridge woke wearily, and her first sight upon returning was happily not the form of the younger Lord Voldemort. She remembered waking... remembered him healing her severed arm, and then a sudden _drain_ that seemed to tug on her very soul. It felt very much like the tug of a Dementor.

Unconsciousness had fled her... and then?

She shielded her eyes with her stump of an arm, mildly disgusted by the children snogging like mad on the other side of the room.

"Hem hem!" She coughed, startling the two, who both turned to look at her.

Ron Weasley, for his part, looked like a house elf that had failed a task. His eyes were wide and red, and he looked as if he hadn't slept in a lifetime, but embarrassment still seemed to creep through. His mouth hung open as if he'd been caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

For but a moment, Hermione looked the same way. Then the girl's eyes narrowed challengingly at her before she roughly turned back to the Red head and sniped his lips with her own.

If not for the intolerance for rule breakers that she had, and the seriousness of the situation, paired with the fact that she appeared to still be missing her arm, Umbridge might've laughed.

Then her eyes wandered to Harry... Harry who she only vaguely recalled dodging the locket phantom's killing curse as she passed into darkness. Harry. Who she probably owed her life. And these children, Harry's dearest friends, who probably had helped in their own way. Well she supposed a kiss or two was not entirely unfounded in this situation.

'_Aaron,' _she thought glumly. Idly, she wondered if she would ever have someone to kiss her like that again...

Probably not.

* * *

Night was upon the land.

A small creature waddled its way through the snow, seeking its small den. It was cold, and the creature knew it shouldn't be out. But it had been hungry, and its stores were much lower than anticipated. It had been a cold winter.

It didn't notice the quiet steps of a much larger creature approach.

When it finally did, it was already too late.

Large cat claws crushed the tiny mouse, killing it quickly. Crookshanks was good at killing mice. He always had been, and he was particularly fond of the taste. Getting rid of rodents was one of his jobs, and the castle grounds needed to be free of the pests just as much as the inner walls did.

So Crookshanks felt he was doing his duty. He didn't like the snow, but the mouse was worth it. He was just about to take a bite out of the small creature, when a dark shadow appeared above him.

He scampered out of the way just in time. A snowy white Owl swooped down and snatched the mouse, but instead of flying away it stopped, angrily nipping at the cat.

"_This is mine," _the owl thought. _"I've been stalking it longer than you. Get your own."_

Crookshanks was perturbed. But it was not his way to question. He'd never been able to understand owls before but perhaps that was because he'd simply never spoken to one. Well. Now he had plenty of reason to do so.

"_I caught him! He's mine!" _

"_Mine!" _the Owl retorted with a squawk and a fluttering of wings.

"_Mine!" _

"_Mine!" _

The conversation degenerated even further from there.

* * *

**END CHAPTER**

**Author's Notes:** Well here's another chapter. I told you it was going to get darker didn't I? Bit of fluff at the ending to easy the heavy handedness with which I began. The plot thickens. The Soul Bond book is burnt to a crisp, and Harry of course, went and got himself into Mortal Peril despite Madam Pomphrey's request. Hermione is Dreaming Harry's dreams with a bit of lime juice, and What the hell am I doing with Luna?

All shall be revealed in time. Kudos to those of you who know EXACTLY where this story is going. The hint is in the runes.

There have been a few comments that Hermione didn't express any feelings towards Ron during fifth book, and I would agree. I'm actually basing her wanting him off of the amount of angst that occurs in book six during the whole Lavender debacle. That kind of jealousy doesn't just develop overnight and since we only get Harry's POV in canon, I'm using my imagination to fill in the gaps. Also, the Yule ball seemed to indicate that Hermione had a crush on Ron at least a little bit and that was a year ago based on this story's timeline.

Umbridge. Well, I'll probably get some hate for this but I've never seen it done before and I wanted to be original. Nuff said.

I truly hope you're all enjoying this. It's a pleasure to write, and I hope its just as much fun to read. Next chapter is going to be a lot lighter, and a bit more dramatic as Harry and Hermione's connection begins to grow stronger.

**Please leave a review!**

**Till Next!  
**

**MB  
**


	4. The Ties that Break

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter ain't no creation o' mine ya hear?

**Notice: **I don't bash. I don't _do bashing. _Characters will be portrayed to the best of my ability as canon to start with. A warning. I will probably dramatically diverge them as the story goes on.

**Forward: **Alrighty. To clarify, unfortunately as it appears I'm losing readership due to this idiocy, **this story will be a Harry/Hermione fic**. And damn you all for making me admit it. I HATE admitting the pairings. Its like saying, "Here's a wonderful story about the journey of a group of people and their trek across the Sahara Desert! Oh. By the way, there's a wedding between these two characters at the end, and everyone else dies.

_Lame._

But since people are SO afraid that it's going to be Ron/Hermione that they can't stand a little bit of (CANON!) romance that they're actually DROPPING the story over it.

This will be a romance between two long time friends. It will be long, before that truly even becomes noticeable. It will be painful. But, by the Light and my Hope for Salvation and Rebirth, it will be _true._ And it will not discard Ronald Weasley like a piece of rubbish hanging down from the engine of a shitty car.

In this or the next chapter, the story will begin to diverge dramatically from canon. I do hope you can still manage to stick with me through the long haul for all of this. I love to put my characters through the ringer, as any who have read my stories before well know. What few know however, is that I absolutely cannot _stand_ tragic endings.

This is probably a bigger spoiler than admitting the pairing but I'll come out and say it straight. Absolutely _every story I have ever written _has a happy ending.

For what is the world, if only tragedy and death await our protagonists? A sad sad place I do say...

In these times _light is a fleeting thing. Whimsical, it appears from the heart of darkness when most needed, then just as quickly shuffles away. But when it is present, it is the greatest thing man can have. Keep it close, while it remains friends, and remember it when it is gone. For always on the horizon lies the eternal peace at the end of the little red book. "There and Back Again" as the old tale is recorded... _

_...All will be well._

* * *

**Error of Soul**

* * *

"_Well there's a very simple disguise for a scar on my neck... You could just give me a hickey. A really _big_ one."  
_–Hermione Granger

* * *

"So, Harry's in the hospital again," George Weasley noted. It had of course been painfully obvious, what with the Quidditch game. Ginny had taken up Harry's position, and both of them winced a little at how badly she'd done. Her first real game, but it was in the cold rain. She hadn't fared well.

"Yep." Fred replied idly, and somehow they both knew that they had best go visit him. They'd put it off till after the game, as he'd only woken up a few hours before the start on Sunday, but neither had expected the game to last so very _long!_

"What you reckon he did this time?" George asked, his tone indicating a bit of a laugh. It was a long running joke behind the Golden Trio's back that each time one of them –Harry in particular– was hospitalized it had to be for something more ridiculous and exceptional than the last time. The car and acromantulas in second year had spawned the game, and it had only grown from there.

"Slew a Bogart?" the other redhead suggested and George shook his head.

"Nah, too lame. Points for originality though," He replied as they walked through the hallway on their way to the hospital wing.

"Well maybe he found out Umbridge was a death eater and killed her, eh?"

"Oh thats just wishing for far too much Fred. Still, fingers crossed," George replied. Inside he did a little jig at the thought. The woman was insufferable. Though her class, the first one she'd actually _taught _last Friday,_ had_ been informative.

"Dementor then. He's killed a Dementor."

George raised an eyebrow. "Brother, you know its _impossible_ to kill a Dementor."

Fred gave his brother a half lidded stare.

"Yeah. My money's on it, too."

What could he say? The idea had merit. Harry had talent for the impossible, so that was easily the best place to start.

* * *

**Chapter Four  
The Ties that Break**

* * *

Rumor spread as it had a tendency of doing at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The air was alight with whispers, and no two mouths spoke without new beliefs joining the frenzy. As always it seemed, they surrounded the Boy Who Lived.

It had begun when an unassuming third year Hufflepuff by the name of Marlene Fairborough had spotted a very worried Dumbledore walking very swiftly down the one of the hallways, Christmas music going _dead_ at his passing. Behind him, three floating bodies seemed to follow, each more ghastly than the last.

First had been Hermione Granger. Very well known amongst the school, the girl was the shining star of the generation. Her grades made teachers weep and students jealous from every house, but even that was secondary to what her true fame was for.

_Adventure..._

Hermione Granger was a pillar of strength by which at least three of the Hogwarts houses drew confidence. She was a beacon of Right, one of three that Hogwarts had produced. In the daylight, she was merely a girl genius. But in rumor, she was _legend. _Tales of rescuing dragons, and hippogriffs melded with stories of polyjuice spywork and weaving time to be in two places at once all swirled around her so that the lower years found themselves in awe.

She'd been behind the forbidden third floor corridor? The forbidden forest? Yes! Of course she had, she was Hermione Bloody Granger! Hell, tack _forbidden_ on anything and you'd be sure to find Hermione there in a week! Restricted section of the library? You bet your arse, Hermione had raided it.

When Marlene spotted the girl, looking pale as death, blood dribbling from her neck, she'd been afraid. What could have done such a thing?

The next body was worse.

Hermione's polar opposite in many ways, the woman was also famous, but infamous suited her more inside the walls of Hogwarts. Everyone hated Professor Umbridge. Even the Slytherin's hated her. The inquisitorial squad, newly formed, tolerated her, but even they were exasperated with the woman's calculated method of _not teaching a damn thing._

Madam Umbridge had progressively worsened everything about the school from sacking one of Marlene's favorite teachers, Professor Trelawny, to forbidding the existence of clubs without her express permission! It was maddening!

But...

The woman's closed eyes, face looking so very _old... _

Her arm... severed and healed into a piteous stump...

Marlene had shuddered then, her eyes turning to the next...

Harry of course.

Harry. Not _a_ beacon for the light. _The Beacon._ With his very _birth_ he had dealt a heavy blow to darkness. His _life_ was perhaps even more incredible. He slew a troll with his bare hands by choking it as his friend bashed it with its own club. He faced a shade of death in the halls beneath Hogwarts and defended the Endless Ruby. He ventured into the chamber and learned the hidden secrets, slaying monsters with a sword of light. His wand drew forth all that was good and happy and with that power turned back the might of an entire army of dementors... or so the story went. At his word, thunder struck and the seas waxed...

And yet he appeared so shy most the time... cute, even.

But Marlene knew. She knew the legend behind the boy. Seeing Harry, a hero for her in many ways, unconscious, his robes matted with dried blood...

Seeing Ron Weasley, third in the triumvirate of power trailing behind might have been the scariest of all. Ron Weasley, who personified bravery, but more so personified the belief in happiness after the story was over. While Harry choked a troll, Ron had done the bashing. Rumor placed him right beside Harry for everything. When Harry had descended into the chamber, Ron had been there.

His rumors were, of course, often tinged with comedy. Marlene personally believed that he kept the other two from going mad with all the wrong-righting they kept up to. She remembered hearing that rumor that he'd barfed slugs a few years before, and she sometimes thought she could believe it.

Seeing him now... his face ashen, eyes confused over which fallen friend to watch closer. Anxiousness warred with despair as he followed Dumbledore, seemingly unaware as he passed right by Marlene.

She wanted to reach out... tell him it was alright. He should be strong for them when they woke. But fear and awe had held her back. She didn't know why she was so nervous around them. Particularly not when silly boys like the Creevy brothers seemed to have no trouble at all riding their coattails.

Their legend had stretched beyond them.

She was certain they didn't even _know..._

_But..._

"_Who are you to tread in the path of the slayer of darkness? Who are you to pretend to offer comfort to those whose lives are given to the fight against the shadow?"_

Nobody. Marlene Alma was nobody...

She also suspected that she spent a hair too much time reading epic fantasy.

She ran off and told her friends. Rumor, with feet like wings, ran rampant...

* * *

Hermione had taken to wearing scarfs. Not a problem since it was the middle of winter but she was afraid of what might come whenever spring rolled around and she continued to wear them. Ron wouldn't care, and of course Harry knew but surely _someone_ would notice that she had a very _significant_ scar on her neck and start to think her some sort of copycat. Or worse, a _fangirl_.

She shuddered at the thought. Being a fan of Harry would be silly... but what else would people think when witnessing a scar like that on her neck? The last thing they would ever think was that it was _real. _

She'd seen it all. The killing curse, stopped a hair's width from snatching her soul. She'd felt its vicious tug on her lifeforce, freezing her into an immobile statue. She remembered the futility. The sense of despair that had crept over her in that last moment. Thoughts of Ron and how she should've _fucking kissed him_. Those were mitigated now by the fact that she seemed to be dating the redhead and still felt rather giddy over it. At the time though, the loss had been paralyzing. Thoughts of Harry... The Hero. The friend she'd never had, that she would _always_ have.

"_Perhaps more?"_

A shiver crawled up her groin, and her body was seized by chills at the pleasurable touch.

"Dammit, Harry!" she hissed aloud, not for nearly the first time. Madam Pince _glared _at her, and she glared back, startling the crooked nosed bitch, before turning back to her books in fury.

Harry of course, wasn't anywhere near her. He was still in the hospital bed, seized by Master Bennet, Madam Pomfrey's replacement while she was on leave. Harry had probably not even thought about the casual graze of his bits but _Hermione_ certainly did!

In irritation, she took her quill and _stabbed_ herself in the arm. A jolt coursed through her, Harry's surprise no doubt, which was followed quickly by her own satisfaction.

_He had no right to fiddle with her body like this!_

...Perhaps she was being unfair though. It wasn't like he really had any more choice in this strange relationship that had developed between them than she did. Idly, she rubbed the mild ache in her arm, guiltily thinking that she'd been a bit hasty with the stab as indagnance fluttered through the bond.

"_Sorry about that Harry."_

Harry was still in the hospital, having his leg reattached. She hadn't even missed class for her ordeal! Near death on Friday and be in class by Monday! Normally she'd be overjoyed at that but the stress of Harry and her connection, added to the _Avada Kedavra..._ She really wanted to take a Monday off. But instead she'd been released Sunday morning, just in time to go watch Ron _dominate_ the quidditch pitch.

… and then utterly humiliate her in the most Weasley-esque bit of showboating imaginable.

Malfoy was an adequate seeker and it was raining. Adequate seekers frankly, could spend _days_ trying to find the snitch in the rain. Ginny was worse, though, so Malfoy had caught the snitch in the end.

Too bad for him that after seven hours of continuous play, Ron Weasley had not let a _single goal in. _

It was being hailed as a miracle. A one in a million game. The boy, startlingly, had gained the attention of scouts within the third hour of the competition. By the fourth a veritable storm of new arrivals from all over Britain had arrived to see the young boy's unbelievable performance. By the fifth hour with a score of three hundred forty to _zero_, the boy was approaching a Hogwarts record. By the seventh he had already passed it.

Malfoy insulted him. Taunted him. Barbs about his poor family fell off the Weasley's skin like water sliding over glass. Casual references to his idiocy were met with an unbending grin while the boy caught the quaffle with his left hand, hanging upside down off his broom with a monkey like grace.

A debut game to shake the ages.

Rain might've made the day dreary, but Ron Weasley and the crowd of cheering Gryffindors made it seem the most lively one ever.

Hermione had been _amazed. _Not a little embarrassed as well. Every other moment the boy glanced at her, as if checking to make sure she was there, she was watching, and she was _his. _It had made her feel special. Loved in a way she'd never felt before. Seeing that unadulterated _joy_ in his eyes sent her blushes into overdrive.

Draco had caught the snitch in the end, grumbling about it as he lazily plucked it out of the air, before Ginny even spotted it, insinuating that he might be a lot better than he was actually letting on. He'd been hoping for his team to turn the game in his favor and regain the points needed to take a win with catching it but as goal after goal slipped through Slytherin's net, while Ron Weasley might as well have erected a fortress in front of his side, Malfoy finally gave up.

The game ended, the whistle blown, Ron had blasted across the Quidditch pitch to her seat in the stands. Ignoring her shock, he hopped off his broom, landing with a flourish and soundly wrapped her in his soaked arms kissing her openly to the catcalls and hoots of the surrounding Gryffindors.

Of course then he'd smiled and hopped back onto his broom leaving her alone to the staring questions and knowing grins of _every single member of Gryffindor._

Except Harry.

Harry was stuck in the Medical ward, a soul bond plaguing him with her chill from the cold air, and absolutely no idea what to expect next.

The Soul Bond book Madam Pomfrey had given her had been destroyed, and that _pained_ her almost as much as the new scar on her neck did. She'd idiotically carried it with her in her frantic worry for Harry, and when that... _necklace _had exploded, it had scorched the book to cinders, along with several desks and a good portion of the rooms stonework.

Now she perused the library, desperately hunting for references to the phenomenon. Unfortunately she'd discovered one more thing already about the Soul Bond without the aid of books. It bled _emotions._ It had probably been doing so all along in fact.

Late Saturday evening Harry had woken up, and Hermione had instantly been _seized_ by worry. Harry's worry for her and Ron it had turned out. When he saw them both sitting, idly waiting for him to awaken, his relief had been so profound that Hermione had felt tears come to her eyes.

Goodness, did Harry truly feel such fear for their wellbeing? It was quite flattering, actually to know how much he cared.

Unfortunately Mediwizard Bennet would not release Harry to play in the Quidditch game. He said the injuries were too serious, which they probably were, but the man's gleaming eyes hinted that a fanboyish questioning awaited the boy who lived.

"_**The bloody game!"**_

Hermione blinked. The thought, punctuated by a strong male tone that she easily recognized as her green-eyed friend, sounded in her brain. It cracked, as if spoken through a shitty walkie talkie or perhaps a bad radio, but it was there.

"_Harry?" _She thought, hard. Could she hear what he was _thinking?_

Nothing happened. After a few minutes waiting in silence, Hermione shrugged, and returned back to scanning the rows and rows of books for something to do with Soul Bonds.

"_**Kissing? Hermione?"**_

The words startled her again a moment later, and she twisted, mildly annoyed. She was feeling anger through the bond, though of the irritable sort, and it was bleeding into her own emotions, making her irritable as well. He'd been feeling angry for quite a while actually. Frustration had pinged the back of her mind all throughout the quidditch game but it had been mild, like the feeling of an uncovered foot when trying to sleep. It was ignorable if comfy enough, and she'd been so entranced by Ron's playing –and not a little bit fond of his body whilst watching– that she'd been quite comfy indeed.

The library was much closer to the hospital wing than the quidditch pitch though. It seemed distance changed how much of his emotions she could feel. It also explained why she'd been able to feel him flying so strongly Friday night. Gryffindor tower overlooked the quidditch pitch after all, and it wasn't unreasonable to look out the window and see them practicing. The occasional bludger hitting the walls was a common occurrence in Gryffindor.

Another touch slid down Hermione's side, and she shuddered a little. If she had to be honest, she would admit that she could hardly _stop_ feeling them now. There were so many that she hardly noticed most of them. A touch of his glasses. A rustling of his shirt. Shifting blankets. The taste of a disgusting potion had been startling but it seemed taste was mild. The emotion that came with it however –disgust of the highest order– sickened her. Even so, they were all somewhat mild. Only the truly heavy touches really seemed to have much effect on her. Touches in sensitive areas for instance often left her shuddering. Worryingly, her leg still ached from where she'd felt it _severed_. It had scarred, and there had been definite pain and bloodshed but it seemed no matter how close to Harry she was, she still only felt a mild version of whatever happened to him. _Her leg _hadn't fallen off after all.

Harry's severed limb had been fixed, though Madam Umbridge would bear her stub for the rest of her days. There was nothing the doctor could do with it, since someone had healed the stub before he could reattach the arm.

"_I wonder who healed her?' _she thought idly.

Shaking her head, she turned back to the row of books.

'_No! This is no time to get distracted. I must find something!'_ Unfortunately her usual motivation for reading and studying was dead. She wanted to be rid of whatever this thing between she and Harry was, but what she really wanted had nothing to _do_ with the Library.

'_I told Ron I'd be there an hour ago. I hope he's not angry with me.'_

Her eyes stopped their meticulous scanning, finger stopping on the spine of a book titled _"Sold! What to Look For When Buying Damane,"_ translated by Marli Noichin. The book was _ancient_. It must have been hundreds if not _thousands_ of years old. Normally, Hermione would find herself curious at such a title, and would probably pull it out. Her thoughts lay elsewhere now, in realms more common to young women.

In her mind, she lay in a field of flowers. A small patch was covered by a soft white blanket, which she and Ron sat on, idly picking at finger foods from a lunch basket as butterflies bustled about. They spoke but the words were nothing dust in the breeze. The words didn't matter. They weren't a part of it. It was the picture, the feelings, the warmth that struck Hermione the truest, and she found herself yearning for the childish fantasy. She shuffled up to the boy and laid her head cutely on his shoulder, his arm automatically wrapping her in an embrace.

'_You have warm hands Ron.'_

She looked up to meet his eyes but to her shock she found someone else there instead. Harry of course. Ever dependable that boy was. You could always count on him to get you into trouble, and you could always count on him to get you out.

"There you are!"

Hermione jumped, as the voice of her _intended_ daydream burst her bubble. She dropped the two books she'd unconsciously been clutching to her chest, but her wand stopped both before they hit the ground with a non-verbal _'Leviosa.'_

"Ron! You startled me!" she hissed, a little offended at being pushed out of her daydream, while simultaneously, overjoyed at seeing him. He'd left his party!? _For her!_

"Impressive magic, Hermione. Harry'd be proud." Ron said noting her quick catch of the books. "Where've you been! I've been waiting for over an hour!"

"I... er... I'm sorry. I've just been having this problem ever since... I really need to–!"

"The scar?" he asked somberly, invading her bubble with far more bravery than he'd ever had before. As well he should. He was her boyfriend now, so that was okay.

She felt his hand lightly caress her scarf above the scar it concealed. There was no pain at all when he touched it, though any time she put her fingers near it it _blared in agony. _He had warm hands after all.

"Not that. It's... something else," she replied, dodging the question. Soul Bond. How well would telling him _that_ go over? Yes, Ron, I appear to be bonded with Harry. Yep. Feel everything he feels, and he's the same. You're alright with that aren't you?

Bloody shit.

His jealousy would go through the roof. It was one of his many flaws, but it didn't matter to her. Not that much anyway. He'd been much better about it since the triwizard tournament but Hermione knew it was still there, lingering like an infection under a sealed wound. She still couldn't help but like the boy though.

"I see," Ron said. "Well, surely you could take a little time to come to the party? It's getting a bit late for reading, anyway."

Hermione fidgeted. "Well, I..."

Ron's other hand suddenly snaked around her waist to press into her lower back, pushing her pleasantly against him. "Actually, now that I think on it, It is rather nice and secluded here. Fancy a kiss?" he said with a winning smirk.

"Ron you–mmph!" she protested but her words were cut off by his lips and she melted into them quickly, her arms unconsciously draping around his shoulders. He smelled good, unlike when he'd kissed her after the quidditch match. He'd smelled like sweaty rain then, but now that he'd had time to clean, she felt her desire rise. His hand felt so nice on her neck, the other on her lower back. Both soft, robbing her of her senses and sensibility alike.

"_That broom closet on the second floor _is _rather cozy..."_

She couldn't help but think that she was... forgetting something.

Dimly at the back of her mind, far beyond the reach of her currently impaired mental capacities, an emotion of outrage and utter revulsion twanged just off her radar.

* * *

"I believe," the woman said with conviction.

Harry nodded, trying to ignore the strange feeling of pressure on his chest. Hermione often put books there, crushing them to her bosom lovingly, and while it looked cute most the time when he watched her do it, it actually felt rather annoying. The pinching and sensitivity he felt there was abnormally strong.

"About time," he replied, unable to hold back a little bit of snideness.

"It seems that... I owe you my life Harry, as well as an apology. You and... _Headmaster Dumbledore_," the words seemed to be ripped painfully from Professor Umbridge as if they were scraps of rat pulled from between a snake's teeth.

"You'll excuse me if I don't accept your apology very quickly," Harry replied.

The woman grit her teeth, as if barely restraining from snapping at him. Just because Harry was right about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, didn't mean she had to _like_ him. He'd seemed like a troublemaker from the moment she'd laid eyes on him. You-Know-Who's return did nothing to change that.

"I don't care about that..." the boy replied, switching from snide to bashful in moments. But the steel returned quickly. "... all I care about is what you plan to do now that you know. Every wand that can fight him is going to be needed. The weaker they are... the more likely it will be that he takes over again."

The words sparked a memory in Umbridge.

_Blackened streets. People cooped up in their homes, hidden by the strongest wards they know, fearful to come out for food or family. Wizards and Witches disappearing, snatched away like ghosts, never to be heard from again. Public deaths in the papers; an actual newspaper devoted only to those who had perished. _

_Starvation. Fear. Fire. Skull and Snake in the Air. Aurors trying everything stop the Dark Lord and his death eaters to no avail. Crouch... ordering her husband's death, just to appear to have some small token of success. The dark lord surely laughing as the light slew their own..._

"You're right," the words were simple, but they signalled an entirely new course for Madam Umbridge. The students would be well versed. Voldemort had returned. And by god, if she didn't find a way to fell him herself the perhaps one of the students she trained would do so.

"M-Madam Umbridge, you are not fit to be–!" came the intolerable voice of mediwizard Bennet only to be cut off by the High Inquisitor's somehow dreadfully powerful "Hem Hem!"

"Master Bennet, was it? I'll be leaving your office now. I thank you for your entirely _unsatisfactory_ care."

The man winced, partly annoyed, and partly guilty. Ever since Harry had woken up the man had been pestering him for an autograph. Umbridge had been amused by Harry's clearly unnerved attitude, but altogether completely displeased with the healer's attention. Rather, he'd spent it all on Harry, and only seemed to cursorily glance at his other patients.

"Madam Undersecretary I must insist that you stay. You lost a large amount of blood during your ordeal and–!"

"Perhaps I did not make myself clear," the toad woman interrupted, much to Harry's amusement. He had quickly come to _hate_ the replacement mediwizard. _"_I am High Inquisitor of this school. You will make no more attempts to keep me here. I will not be herded by the whim of a man obsessed with getting an autograph from a twelve year old! Now get out of my way!"

"...I'm fifteen," Harry mumbled feebly. His words went unnoticed.

"Yes, Ma'am. As you say," the words were relatively quiet but Harry sensed a soft danger from the man, as if he just barely kept from drawing a weapon. Just as quickly as he felt it though, the feeling faded. As the woman stepped around him, he muttered under his breath, "Hope you fall on your arse down the stairs, you piss-covered shrew."

A low choking laugh was barely stopped in Harry's throat. Had he been drinking something, he was certain he would have sprayed it out. Piss-covered shrew? He'd have to remember that one.

The man was tall but lanky, with a sort of mad scientist look about him. His hair seemed to spike naturally and if it were a bit longer Harry was certain it would fly in all directions like a character in a Saturday cartoon. He wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that were thicker than two pairs of Harry's. Unlike most wizards, the man wore a mostly muggle suit, which was probably one of the reasons Madam Umbridge seemed to hate him more than Harry did.

Harry's hatred was simple. The man was a die-hard Harry Potter fan. Every other second he was pandering to Harry like a house elf or begging for an autograph for his daughter, which for some reason Harry was very disinclined to give.

A few hours passed. The game had been over for a while now. Why hadn't Ron or Hermione come to tell him about it? Shrugging to himself, he fidgeted a little and idly picked at some of the potatoes delivered by a house elf.

Hermione was _reading. _A relatively good excuse for her. He could tell by the buzz in the background and the feeling of contentedness that spread through him. Surprisingly he found it rather comforting. Her emotions often reflected a sort of pleasant coziness and he had finally detected why. It was how she felt whenever she was reading. Since the bond between them seemed to transfer emotions as well as the sense of touch, Harry had recognized quite a few emotions that the girl had previously kept hidden.

Occasionally she had bouts of intense _loathing_ that made little sense to Harry. He hadn't been around her when those occurred so he had no context by which to understand the emotion, but there it was. Fear had lurched in her a few times throughout the day, presumably when she'd been watching the game. He assumed that was the usual fair, worry for the players.

Stabs of annoyance cut through the buzz of her reading at regular intervals. Harry couldn't really guess at those either but he found that they weren't all that much of a bother. They were distant, all of her emotions were, and Harry got the impression that distance changed how effectively they felt each other's emotions. Probably the intensity of the feeling as well. He remembered the rising panic that he'd felt whenever Tom had cursed him. Panic that he was now certain hadn't been his own.

A sudden jolt of pain surged through his arm. His eyes widened and he jerked his hand to cover it while trying to hide the sensation from Healer Bennet.

"_What the hell Hermio–"_

Then he realized what he'd done to cause her reaction. He'd let his hand graze across his privates. He flushed a bit but indignation was still prevalent. It wasn't like he could really _help_ it! It was just where your hands go when you're sitting up on a bed!

He had the decency to feel embarrassed anyway.

And suddenly he heard a voice. Small and quiet like hearing a whisper from the other side of a thick wall.

"_**Sorry abo... Harry."**_

"Harry!" Came a sudden slightly inebriated shout that often accompanied the Weasley twins as they barged into the hospital wing. "How are you, chap!?"

"Heard you've been off saving damsels again we did!"

"Indeed. What was it this time?"

"A dementor?"

"Myrtle's ghost? Tell me you saved Myrtle's ghost, I've got money on it!"

"But thats neither here nor there. What we're here for is–"

"The game! You missed the _game!" _

'_The Bloody Game!' _Harry thought irritably. Hermione had felt agitated throughout the entire thing. Each moment the emotion had become more and more prominent, and as the hours went by, Harry had started to go a little bit insane.

Luckily before he started gnawing on his fingernails and clawing at the walls with indescribable worry for something he didn't understand, it all dissolved. He knew the moment the game ended because a blazing sigh of _relief_ had swept over Hermione.

And then even THAT was ruined as Harry felt inexplicable euphoria, and a strange sensation on his lips and lower back. That of course was followed by embarrassment. Because you couldn't trust Hermione's emotions to ever stay STILL!

It was enough to drive a bloke out of his mind.

Realizing that he'd drifted in the middle of conversation he snapped back to the twins.

"I heard. Ron, eh. Who knew?" he responded, non-committally to a blank area in the middle of them, pretending they were one entity. For a wonder, it actually worked a bit.

"Well I admit, we've always suspected–"

"–that our little brother had a streak of awesome in him!"

Harry gave a slightly chagrined smile. He was depressed, having missed the game, but definitely proud of the Weasley. Harry knew he was an exceptional flyer. But forty seven _blocks? _Ron must have been floating on air. What could have suddenly given him such... motivation?

"You know, its probably because of Hermione," one of them said offhand, staring avidly at one of the pictures on the walls. "After the game ended Ron flew over to her and kissed her right in the middle of the stands!

Harry blinked. It didn't take more than half a second to make the connection.

"_Kissing. Hermione?"_

_Euphoria, followed by embarrassment..._

His face went green. He suddenly felt ill. He gagged on his own air.

"Harry?" one of the twins questioned, their usual slightly arrogant tone fading to concern.

"_**You... warm ...ands, Ron."**_

Hermione's voice sounded in his mind once more. Faded.

Recovering from the disgusting thought, Harry suddenly felt a soft pressure on his lower back. A _hand. _Dirty thoughts crossed his mind, and heat filled his cheeks. He let out a sigh before he realized what he was doing...

"_**...closet on...econd floor is rath– cosy."**_

"Oh _hell no." _He hissed, his face morphing into a rictus snarl of mixed disgust and outrage.

Rising, he utterly ignored the squawks of Medi-wizard Bennet, his eyes glowing in anger. He strode past the twins without another word and out of the hospital wing, slamming the door behind him.

"Right cheery chap, inn'he?" Fred summarized the scene.

* * *

Harry opened the door, almost limping by the time he finally reached it. His face was flushed, and his emotions were running high. He was almost heady with the effects of Hermione's euphoria but the cause, the _obvious cause_, sent so much disgust through him that it was enough to destroy every good feeling that Hermione had sent.

What he found behind the second floor broom closet was almost enough to make him retch right there. He probably would've if he weren't so goddamn angry.

"Who the bloody– _Harry?!_" Ron's surprise echoed out from the back of the closet. He shut up very quickly upon seeing the pure undiluted _rage_boiling under the raven-haired boy's glasses.

Hermione squeaked, pushing herself apart from Ron like he was infested with the plague.

Harry just stood there, growling like a bear, unable to voice his anger. Hermione grasped the situation rather quickly actually. She was snogging Ron in a broom closet. Harry of course, felt the effects and was suitably disgusted.

Hermione was horrified.

"Oh, gods, Harry! I... uhm... I forgot–! I'm so sorry! I..."

Harry's gaze snapped to her at her words, his eyes flaring. She flinched, visibly folding in on herself, wringing her hands in guilt. Her cheeks were still flushed and a small trail of sweat fell down her face. They were both still fully clothed, if a bit ruffled. Thankfully.

Unfortunately, Harry had trouble staying mad at Hermione when she was looking so damned apologetic. Unwilling to give up his anger though, he snapped his eyes back to Ron, and shuddered almost visibly. His glare intensified, anger warring with disgust.

Of course he couldn't _rationally_ be angry with Ron. He had no idea what was going on. But _Hermione!? _How could she do this to him!? God he felt so fucking sick. Still, the sheer guilt wafting in over the bond was doing wonders to calm him.

"I'm sorry." Hermione tried again. "Look I..."

"Save it." Harry interrupted, relief trailing in over his heated face, now that the... _feelings_ weren't there anymore. And the touches. God the touches. Blegh. "I get it." He couldn't help a slight glare at Ron though.

Ron idly noted that Harry's breathing was every bit as labored as his and Hermione's were. Worriedly, he realized that there might've been more between Hermione and Harry than he'd ever guessed. Hermione had said yes to being his girlfriend. She'd kissed him back! But...

"Mate. Was there...? You and Hermione I mean? I-I... of course I'll step out of the way if you two were..."

Hermione's eyes widened in horror. "No! No...! Ron I very much want to be your girlfriend, and I'm sure Harry has no problems with _that_." She said with an inquisitive look at Harry. He seemed to be calming down, now that the flush in her own cheeks was fading.

"I'm happy for the two of you. Just keep me bloody out of it!"

Ron quirked an eyebrow. Keep me out of it? What did he mean by...?

Puzzle pieces... a picture began to coalesce in Ron's mind.

Hermione, as always, was quick to try and fill in the gap. "Harry and I have a bit of a... problem. Ron we can't do things like this. Not yet, at least. Its... complicated."

Not so complicated. Ron's mind trailed back to the book on Soul Bonds that Hermione had been reading. Dredging up memories of Soul Bonds he found himself recalling a half remembered conversation with his mother about how they destroyed friendships and ended marriages.

The details weren't exactly high on his list of things to know, but purebloods always heard their parents talking about a soul bond developing between a few lifelong friends. And then pushing them apart. Magic, deciding that the two were so in tune that they needed to form a bond. Magic was not sentient. It did what it thought was necessary.

Even when it was _disastrously wrong._

It was almost obvious now that Ron thought on it...

"You two have a Soul Bond. Don't you?"

The two froze.

"H-How did you...?"

"R-Ron! I meant to tell you but...!"

Ron couldn't stand it. He grit his teeth in anger, reaching for the wall to steady himself against it as he fully disengaged from Hermione, raging not at the two in front of him but at magic, fate, and the world in general.

"You do, don't you? Fuck!"

"W-we..." Harry tried to sooth the red-head unsure how he had become the apologetic one in this mess. _'Sorry, mate, I can feel when you touch your girl's bum? God, how did we get into this.' _Right. Real smooth. But that was the first thought that came into his mind.

Hermione choked, turning to Harry, her jaw hanging open a bit. "H-Harry? What did you just... say?"

"How can you both be so bloody calm! You have a fucking _soul bond! _Stop sitting here! Hermione! Get to a library and figure this out before...! Before...!"

Harry, having seen that Ron might actually _know _something about what a soul bond really was, jumped on his words like they were a the only buoy in the middle of an ocean.

"Before what!? Ron, _what is _a soul bond!"

Ron's jaw dropped. "Y-You don't know! No... of course you wouldn't."

'_No more golden trio,' _he thought, trying hard not to start sobbing in the middle of the hallway. _'Why... of all people why did it have to be my two best friends...? What am I going to do?'_

"Ron...?"

Ron searched inwardly, trying to remember everything he could about soul bonds. His parents spoke of them in hushed tones, and he'd heard conversations about them at dinners with other families, rare though that might be. Every occasionally one of those sad stories cropped up, and the parents all spoke with sad faces and broken hearts. Usually they happened to older people though.

Apparently Harry and Hermione just hadn't run into anyone yet who knew about them, being raised by muggles and all. It was a bit of a taboo topic.

Much like funerals.

But... maybe that was a _good_ thing!

Hermione... god she was beautiful. Oh, what he wouldn't give to see his first year self's expression after hearing him say that. But then, Hermione had come a long way from the buck-toothed know-it-all she'd once been. She was brave. Smart. Funny.

Harry... good ole' Harry. Never was there a more trustworthy friend. Hell Ginny would be dead if not for him, not even including what he'd done for the wizarding world as a whole. Or... what he'd done for Ron. This last year had been a struggle to stop himself from being the jealous prat he'd once been. But for the first time, he found himself truly and direly ecstatic that he _wasn't_ Harry Potter.

Because in a few short months, Harry and Hermione would bloody _hate each other._

That's what soul bonds do. Reveal all your secrets. All your thoughts. _Everything. _And relationships... they don't stand very well in the face of that.

And yet...

"I think its best if you don't know," Ron replied candidly. "There's no known cure but distance. Stay away from each other long enough, and the bond will dissolve, but it'll take years if you already feel what the other does. So... I'm not going to tell you. If you don't know what's coming, maybe you'll be able to weather it better than if you already know what to expect."

"But if we don't know about it, how are supposed to get rid of it!?" Hermione protested.

The boys, for once, ignored her. To Harry, it made sense. And he trusted Ron. That was all there was to it. Harry stared at his friend. The boy was near to tears as he looked back and forth between them, but Harry just simply couldn't relate. How bad could something called a _soul bond_ actually be? But... Ron was acting like it was the end of the world.

Ron stepped around Harry and out of the closet, looking back to him sadly. "I really am sorry about that. Didn't know, honest. It won't happen again until you two are... cured. Or..." _'Until you two are living on opposite sides of the world.'_

Now Harry felt guilty. "Er... Sorry too, Ron. I don't mean to step between you two," He gave Hermione an apologetic look as well. "But I don't really have much choice. We'll figure this out."

Hermione glared. "Harry! He _knows! _Ron, I demand you tell us everything you know about the soul bond, right now!"

Ron smiled.

"Lay off Hermione. Don't you trust him?"

"He's got all the answers right here! How can you just–!"

Ron surprisingly, interrupted her, his words cutting to the bone. "Sometimes, Hermione, there are things that are better left unknown. Please... even when things get really bad, remember that you two are friends? Thick as thieves you two. I wouldn't know what to do without either of you."

With that, the boy walked away down the hall.

"Hey Ron!" Harry called after him, and he turned back while subtly wiping at his eye. "Great game this morning."

Ron barked a laugh. He'd forgotten all about the game. And the party still going on in the Gryffindor common room. He no longer felt much like partying. "Thanks Harry."

He rounded the corner and was gone.

"Oh not Ron too! Dammit all Harry, why can't we figure this out?"

Harry was silent, turning towards her. For the first time since walking in on the two he actually took note of her state of dress, and barely suppressed a flinch as she pushed herself off the closet wall. His eyes widened a fraction at what he spotted. She didn't hear the next words to come from his mouth as her eyes trailed after where Ron had been. But the words he spoke next were simply unfathomable.

"_Is that a lace bra?"_

Her eyes widened and she turned to find Harry staring at her chest. Just as suddenly she realized that her shirt was still slightly unbuttoned down the front. He started, face whipping up to her eyes, but the damage had already been done.

Her hand met his face so hard that the boy tumbled to the floor in a heap.

"What. The hell. Harry?"

"W-What!? What was that for!?"

"And that reminds me. I was sharing your dream last night, you pervert! What in the world are you doing, thinking of Cho like that!?"

Harry flushed deeply. "I... err... ah..."

Hermione flushed deeply in turn feeling Harry's emotion once again.

"Aggh! What's the point in scolding you if I'm the one who feels scolded! I can't stand this! _Incendio!" _she bellowed, the inferno blasting into the impenetrable walls of Hogwarts in a satisfying bit of stress relief. Magic flowed out of her in _waves_ not unlike how they had done in Flitwick's charms class a few days before.

Breathing hard, staring at the satisfying blackened stone on Hogwart's second floor wall, Hermione truly felt a little bit calmer. The walls began repairing themselves before her eyes, stone bubbling out in places it had melted and recoloring as it did.

"S-Sorry Harry. I know its not your fault."

Harry tried to accept the apology gracefully but his face throbbed and stung as if the flesh had been exposed to a beehive.

Hermione flinched, feeling a milder image of the pain in her own face. "Ahh.. really sorry. I didn't know I could hit that hard."

"Me neither..." the green-haired boy joked.

'_Looking at my breasts. Honestly Harry. And when Ron was acting so serious, like he'd just found out we both had cancer or something."_

Harry heard every word. His response, unvoiced, could not be unsaid in his mind.

"_You shirt was unbuttoned and they're pretty! Its not my fault!"_

This time, Hermione's arms covered herself in a very flattered way and her cheeks reddened. _"Th-thank you Harry."_

Abruptly something clicked. The two of them stared at each other. Stared for a bit longer. Eyes widening.

"Harry, are we hearing each other's thoughts?"

Harry nodded, dumbly.

"Yeah... thought so." Hermione finished lamely.

Harry sighed, rubbing his face tenderly and lay back on the ground, heedless of the fact that he was in the middle of the hallway. No one was around, and miraculously this hallway was free of paintings. _"One thing after another with this soul bond."_

"_I could really go for a butterbeer."_

"_I'd take one firewiskey. And maybe something stronger." _

"_Cheers..."_

"Ah! There you two are, I've been looking all over for you. I don't suppose you've seen mister Weasley nearby?" Mistress McGonagall's voice flitted in over the silence the two of them had created through their mental conversation.

"_I always thought she looks exactly like what a witch should look like in the fairy tales. Her nose a tad crooked. Face wrinkled. Old. Except her personality is the exact opposite."_

The thoughts were not like words. They were not spoken, but rather came in one intense burst of feeling that conveyed meaning perfectly. Instantly. Thoughts are not the same as sentences. A thought could come a billion times faster, with more clarity than words.

At first, Harry felt indignant. The old woman was soft hearted when you really got down to it, and Harry was offended that Hermione thought that of the old witch. Then after thinking about it for a moment, he silently agreed.

"_Wicked witch of the west wing of Hogwarts, with a heart of gold."_

Hermione burst out laughing. Gasping, she crushed her hands over her mouth in an effort to stem the slightly rude laughter and come up with a reply. "Ah... er. He just went down that way, Professor."

After an odd moment in which the Headmistress stared at them both she continued on as if nothing had happened.

"Alright. I'll have to catch up with him. You two though. The headmaster would like to see you in his office. And its so good to see you out of bed so quickly for once Harry. Master Bennet must be an exceptional healer."

Harry smirked. _"I couldn't say. His lips are still firmly glued to my arse."_

Again Hermione was forced to hold back sputtering laughter. Tears of mirth helplessly streamed down her down her eyes.

McGonagall couldn't help but feel the two were having a laugh at her expense, but for the life of her she could not discern why.

* * *

Minister Fudge was comfy.

As Minister for Magic this was particularly unsurprising. He sat in a plush red leather chair that had been wonderfully broken in to accommodate his aging back and every time he sunk into it he felt the worries of the day start to drain away.

Curious as that was, since most of his worries were generated from the desk the chair occupied, Fudge still found it to be one of the most soothing places he frequented. If the desk and the papers that filled it were going to be such a bloody headache then the chair had damn well better ease the burden. Nothing about being Minister for Magic was easy. Nothing. So thank Merlin for the wonderful chair. At least he had that small comfort.

"Minister?" Weatherby mumbled quietly. "You have an appointment with the Head of House Fuertome in half an hour. Should I relocate it to your office or will you still be going to the grand sitting room?"

Ah Weatherby. Such a fine young lad. Always knew exactly what he needed that one did. The minister made a mental note to actually call him by his real name for once at some point in the day. He really _was _a dedicated young lad. Probably would make a good minister himself one day, with the proper guidance.

"Ah... please Mr. Weasley. Relocate the meeting to my office. I'm dreadfully tired. I must say I'm feeling older and older by the day. Hair's gone completely grey, _completely grey_ since I became minister!" He bragged. Pleased with himself, he picked up and munched on a cookie from the corner of his desk. He hated the similarity between himself and Albus Dumbledore but he found that he could not kick the habit. Sweets were a wonderful thing.

"Now. I'll need to see a report from that finicky witch over in international relations. You know, the one dealing with the Irish Trading companies. Also, get me the logbooks from the department of Agriculture. I heard something about the irrigation spells acting up. Wouldn't want the muggles getting spooked and start finding ghosts in their... masheens. They'd stop growing all our favorite foods, and then where would we be? No. Best nip that problem while its still fresh. Finally–"

"Minister." Came a quaint voice, interrupting his monologue, but Fudge found the voice entirely pleasant.

"Ah! _High Inquisitor Umbridge!" _he grinned as he announced the title, like sharing a private joke turning from Weatherby to face the woman. "What brings you to my– _Sweet Merlin_ your _arm! Delores what happened!?" _

The woman approached the desk with sort of quiet dignity that Fudge had always liked in the woman. She was a good person to have at your back against the drove of idiots who often wandered through his ministry. She caught his slips and corrected them often before he even noticed he'd goofed up. Competent. Confident. And very rarely wrong.

None of that consciously passed his mind as his jaw hung open and he stared dumbly at the stub of an arm she now supported.

"I cut it off," she replied susinctly.

"W-Why!?" Fudge sputtered, spitting all over the important documents splayed out on his desk. Percy Weasley was bug-eyed staring at her with worry. His jaw hung open a little.

"I refused to be given the Dark Mark. It'll have to end Minister. Your campaign against Dumbledore."

"P-Preposterous! Are you implying that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has, in fact, returned from the grave? Preposterous!" he repeated standing from his comfortable red chair. "I won't have this nonsense placed before me! Madam Umbridge you've been duped by Dumbledore! That must be-!

"Minister," her word cut him off mid-tirade and her hard, cold eyes transfixed him. "I find Dumbledore contemptible. He is a half-wit old geezer who has held his positions for far too long. But in this he _is not wrong._ Minister, if you care for your position, you must _immediately_ begin warning the people."

He spluttered for a few moments more. "A-and... what would... what would you have me say, Undersecretary?"

"Simply this. We were wrong. _You-Know-Who... lives._"

* * *

**END CHAPTER**

**Author's Notes: **

I just got back from a vacation to America. And on a sad note, I'm now single so I guess you can infer that my proposal idea didn't work out. Didn't even happen actually. Ah well.

Even so, there are always silver linings. The visit with all of my family was a smashing good time! Great to be able to sleep in my own bed though.

Sorry for the slightly shorter chapter but I feel like it hits with infinitely more _oomph_. I can't think of a better scene to end the chapter on.

The secrets of the soul bond have been revealed, and are not all that much different than you might expect. Hearing thoughts. Feeling emotions and the sensation of touch. I hope my take on the particulars of what a soul bond would actually do to a pair of individuals will really impress you though. Let me know if you feel like I'm getting anything terribly wrong, but I feel pretty confident.

Had to rewrite that scene in the broom closet like four damn times to get it to feel right though.

Anywho. Feel free to **Leave a Review!**

**Till Next!  
MB**


	5. Lightning Chain

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter ain't no creation o' mine ya hear?

**Notice: **I don't bash. I don't _do bashing. _Characters will be portrayed to the best of my ability as canon to start with. A warning. I will probably dramatically diverge them as the story goes on.

**Forward: **So readers, on average seemed to have liked this most recent chapter. Thats good. I'm happy to find that. 200 reviews for a 45k word story. Eh. Not bad. Could be better. But then, I could update faster too, couldn't I?

Sorry about that. Military life leaves some time but not as much as I used to have, and losing my lady, along with the release of the final Wheel of Time book isn't exactly helping. I did finish the book but now my head is swimming in a realm of awesome and not likely to come down any time soon.

Of course I am writing this now so hopefully I'm at least not completely gone. Hehe. I'm tempted to start a Wheel of Time: Happily Ever After ficcy but I'd probably just ruin it.

Ah well. _In honor._

_There are neither beginnings, nor will there ever be endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. Instead this single ending is but a signal for others to someday fly higher, and shine brighter still. Look back on fallen sunsets with fondness but never take more than one eye off the horizon; you never know when you might miss an even greater burst of sunshine._

* * *

**Error of Soul**

* * *

"_I call her a flighty temptress, Adventure, but the truth is that once you finally rest your head on her soft lap, she's really quite the comely wench. A tad clingy, too."  
_–Albus Dumbledore

* * *

"Ah, Hermione! Harry, good to see you, lad," said the ever-enigmatic Albus Dumbledore as the two of them stepped into his office off of the rotating staircase that led to it.

Harry grit his teeth. Albus had been utterly ignoring him for the better part of three months and _now_ he decides to talk? He folded his arms and gave the older man a pointed, dour look, then turned away.

"_No need to be so rude Harry!" _came Hermione's admonishment. In his head. In his bloody head. Hell she probably wouldn't have even noticed his reaction if not for the bond. She bloody hero worshipped Dumbledore just because of his title!

Harry fervently wished he could have that thought back, as the girl promptly _glared_ at him, then folded her arms in sharp imitation of his own stance and turned towards the headmaster. Even so, she couldn't help the thought any more than he could his own.

"_Better he gets my respect then a silly _boy_ who won't stop whining like a big baby." _

The girl's eyes widened and she put her hands over her mouth as if unbelieving of what she'd just said.

Harry was struck _dumb_. "Wh-whining!?" He said allowed.

"Oh Harry, I didn't mean it like... well... like it..."

Her thoughts told an entirely different story as they went on thinking her true emotions while her voice stuttered and died. _"Well I _did_ mean it! I just didn't want to offend you!" _

"Well you bloody did!" hissed the boy-who-lived aloud.

"_N-no! That's... I'm sorry!" _Hermione's thoughts sounded before her words could catch up and the girl's face scrunched into a contrite and defensive frown.

"Children... if you might turn your thoughts away from your rather one-sided conversation for but a moment?" Albus's voice cut in, effectively derailing the entire internal dialogue the two were unwillingly sharing.

Both sets of eyes snapped to Dumbledore, and regarded the man with different degrees of anger. Hermione felt partly annoyed that she'd lost the final word on showing Harry how much of a stubborn mule he was being, and Harry was angry at the both of them.

"The killing curse has been survived once again. Has it not?" he asked simply.

* * *

**Chapter Five  
Lightning Chain**

* * *

Anger _died._ Hermione and Harry were both stunned speechless at the jolt back to reality.

Harry suddenly felt immensely guilty. He was lucky Hermione was even alive. She'd leapt in front of a Killing Curse for him, and here not two days later he was in a seething rage at her for something as petty as... well. A stray thought.

Hermione, quite similarly, found herself feeling slightly justified, but guilty all the same. Harry had walked with a half sliced leg and _grabbed_ a frozen killing curse from its place at her neck. And she berated him for being a child.

That had not been the action of a child.

"Sorry Professor," both intoned, to Dumbledore's private amusement.

"Quite all right, quite all right indeed. Now, on to business. Hermione Granger. Would you so kindly remove the scarf and sit up here?" he asked, the usual twinkle in his eye as he gestured to a tall chair in the center of his office that Harry had never seen before.

"O-Of course sir," said the stricken girl. Guilt plagued her and Harry felt it as it seeped in through his veins, a dragon hiding in the bottom of his throat.

Hermione relieved herself of her knitted scarf gingerly, and handed it to Harry.

"Er... Sorry Hermione. I didn't mean to get so angry," Harry said with conviction, and he truly meant it. The girl was his best friend, aside from Ron. Maybe even better. The whole world grew askew if Hermione was angry with him. The sight of the now permanent blemish upon the once creamy smooth skin of her neck served as a potent reminder of her loyalty and friendship.

Hermione felt Harry's complete sincerity and it served to alleviate her reservations.

"That's alright Harry. I do wish you would show more respect for your elders, though. Professor Dumbledore has done nothing but help you since you've come to Hogwarts," Hermione replied, direly wanting the last word. "And... I also wish you would stop being so distant Professor. It... it has really been driving Harry quite mad lately.

Satisfaction wafted across the bond from Harry and Hermione favored him with a happy smile that he returned in kind. Maybe this bond wasn't so bad after all.

"Ah... well that was another rather foolish thing I've done. One of a long list of them, I fear. Foolishness has a way of breeding in old minds," Dumbledore said, his words spinning riddles on a whim. "You see Harry, I thought avoiding contact with you would be the best way I could protect you. I feared he would use the link between you to invade your mind and attack me, regardless of the damage such actions might bring to you."

Sitting down on the tall chair, Hermione allowed the headmaster to pull a short stool up to her side and seat himself.' _Sounds reasonable. Though if he could use the link to destroy Harry, then why wouldn't he just do it? Destroy Harry's mind and be done with it.'_

'_Hermione... I'm right here,' _Harry's voice in her mind sounded a bit petulant.

Hermione felt the tell tale pressure of Harry's hand on his forehead as he rubbed it. Her own headache, one she hadn't even realized she'd had until that moment, began to throb. The pressure of Harry's hand did seem to help a little though. Her sympathy and guilt fed through the bond formed the apology easily.

Harry had trouble taking offence in the light of true regret seeping through their ever strengthening bond.

"That's alright Hermione. I know what you meant. But she's right professor," Harry said turning back towards Dumbledore questioningly.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "About what, if I may ask?"

Harry blinked. "Err..."

Hermione sighed. "He's obviously figured it out Harry. Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry and I seem to have a soul bond."

"I'd quite noticed," Dumbledore replied with a laugh. "Its left me quite unsure what to make of the two of you. You're conversation is strenuously difficult to follow."

Harry barked a laugh, in genuine humor. "Perhaps that's what you get for always speaking in riddles!"

The wizened Headmaster's face split into a wide grin. "You may be right Harry. Though allow me to guess the train of your thought. You wonder why it is Voldemort does not simply invade your mind, Harry? Fine, I shall be plain. Your Soul Bond with young Granger, while surely inconvenient as you've come to notice, provides us with an unexpected advantage."

Hermione began rubbing her forehead in time with Harry. "You're definition of being plain still leaves a little to be desired... sir."

On his perch, Fawkes trilled a harmonious note, seemingly adding its sentiment to Hermione's own. It was almost as if the bird agreed. Further, it flew, startling Hermione before landing on her shoulder. The girl flailed her arms comically in flight before a great calm set over her.

Harry felt the tight, yet comforting weight settle upon his own shoulder and smiled. Fawkes was amazing. His brief headache seeped away stolen by the bird's mere presence.

"Ah. Thank you Fawkes!" She smiled up at the phoenix on her shoulder and the majestic bird trilled once more.

"So... the soul bond is protecting me?" Harry questioned though it was slightly rhetorical.

"What _is_ a Soul Bond, Professor? We can't seem to get a straight answer from anyone! Ron clamped up and wouldn't say anything..." Hermione asked, earnesty in her voice.

Harry felt something different. An almost malevolent _need to know._ Harry had never confronted Hermione's thirst for knowledge quite so closely before. Now it screamed for sustenance, like a woman lost in the desert might scream for water.

He was startled. Had she always been so... fervent? Feeling as he was, even he felt a near conscious desire to claw Dumbledore's mouth until it released the words of knowledge Hermione craved.

Hermione glanced towards Harry, aware of his sudden unease, but not capable discerning why. Heavy feeling without an active thought was still lost to her. So, there was some privacy at least. If she could avoid thinking...

"_Might as well try to catch the sun and put it in a treasure box." _

Of course Harry had no idea what that meant.

Dumbledore watched the quick exchange with exaggerated patience. Finally when it seemed as if the two had come to a brief close in their endless conversation, he spoke.

"Mr. Weasley... always trying to look out for the two of you. I assume he thought you would be better able to handle the change if you didn't know what to expect. Alas... he is sorely wrong on this point. Please give him my apologies. A Soul Bond, is just that Miss Granger. Young Harry and yourself, or rather, your magical cores, have developed a dependence upon one another. Much like your own friendship, your magic has found a mirror in that of the other. One so potent that it has decided to forge a permanent link. Put more simply, your magics... are fond of one another. Or... that's the theory anyway."

They both blushed at the implication and Dumbledore's easy smile.

"And... what advantage is that? Ron acts like its the end of the world! Madam Pomfrey was almost in tears when she found out!" Hermione spat in return.

Harry was content to remain quiet. Inside he agreed with Hermione's question.

Over on a shelf in the back corner, a small distance from the sorting hat, one of the chortling devices gave a small puff, letting loose a tiny cloud of smoke that quickly evaporated into nothing. This served to create a short lull in the conversation. Dumbledore took advantage of the moment to compose his thoughts.

"Well, the advantage is simple. Honestly it has likely saved your life already, and in more ways than merely blocking the killing curse." Dumbledore said, and it _infuriated _Hermione.

The girl tapped her foot impatiently, and Harry felt another burst of that terrible _need_ from her. Harry felt overwhelmed by it. He'd wasn't sure if he'd ever felt so strongly about anything in his life.

Even so, she hid it well. Outwardly, Harry noticed absolutely no difference from how the girl would normally act. Even the tapping foot didn't seem out of place. How could he have ever known that such _feeling_ hid behind that tiny impatient act. Had she always felt this way?

"A Soul Bond, among other things, provides both participants with nearly perfect defense of the mind," said the old man.

"The mind? You mean we can't, say... be obliviated?"

Dumbledore paused for a moment, as if stumped. "I... don't truly know, Miss Granger. I've never thought about it. Though it might go a long way to explaining how Mr. Lockhart's Oblivation spell was reverted in your second year Harry."

Harry's eyes widened. "This has been starting since Second Year!?" he burst aghast, his lower voice the only thing making his response louder than Hermione's shocked "What!?"

Before he could let them steer the conversation away again, Dumbledore continued with that insufferable smile, "In addition, I believe you should begin research into the art of harnessing your unique Soul Magic."

Their eyes widened further if that was possible. "Soul magic?"

"Are... are you going to teach us professor?" Hermione put forth timidly.

Dumbledore frowned for the first time since they'd entered the room. "I'm afraid not."

Harry seethed inwardly. Bloody hell he wished the man would teach him directly. If anything could prepare him to face Voldemort, as it seemed he would be doomed to do every year till the end of time, personal tutelage under Dumbledore would be the best thing he could hope for. Yet once again he was being denied–!

"I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea how." He confessed.

Harry was crushed, but Hermione was simply _devastated. _Unfound knowledge... the worst kind.

"I have only known two... couples I suppose who have been Soul Bonded in my long years." Dumbledore said solemnly.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows in thought. That didn't make sense. If Dumbledore who had lived more than a century, had only known _two_ pairs of Soul Bonded people then why did the bond have its horrible reputation? Ron, Madam Pomfrey, even Lavender had reacted as if stung when they'd heard the word. Like they had personal family who had suffered from a deep affliction.

Harry was surprised by the deduction as Hermione's thoughts on the matter filtered over to him. _"You're right Hermione. That is odd."_

She favored Harry with a grin.

"Profess–" Hermione tried to voice her concern, encouraged by Harry's backing but the headmaster interrupted her before she could begin.

"Rather... I've only met two pairs who... who didn't grow to utterly loathe one another within the first several months."

Hermione and Harry's reactions were rather simple. Incomprehension.

"What?" they both voiced in unison.

Dumbledore held up a finger and began a lecturing tone that he had surely developed from long years as a teacher before reaching his position as Headmaster. "The stigma that surrounds the Soul Bond is rather potent due to the nature of the bond. Couples have reported sharing thoughts, feelings, even dreams, to a degree that utterly robs one another of all privacy. Most... unfortunately most relationships are incapable of enduring such stress. Friendships, relationships, even marriages have been destroyed by such bonds."

Harry looked to Hermione, who turned to look at him in turn.

"_I can't lose Hermione... that's impossible."_

"_Harry...? Is that why Ron looked so sad? He is afraid Harry and I will...? Well, it does go a long way towards explaining why he isn't mad at Harry." _Hermione thought to herself.

Unfortunately, with Harry listening in, it felt as if Hermione were talking about him behind her back. _"Still here Hermione," _he thought in her direction._  
_

"_Sorry Harry... I... I have trouble thinking as if talking to someone else. I'll try to stop talking about you as if your... erm... not here in my head."_

Harry sighed and kept his eyes locked with the girl. _"We can handle this, can't we Hermione? I mean... I can't lose you. You're my best friend... I could never..." _

"_No matter what happens. We'll always be friends Harry." _

Weirdly, Harry felt a pang of regret at this. Even he couldn't explain why. Always be friends. That was good right? Always... friends... That had a sort of finality to it that Harry found discomforting. He didn't understand what he felt, so the emotion filtered to Hermione as a mild confusion.

Even so, Harry recovered quickly. "Yeah. We will," he turned back to face Dumbledore in the middle of his words. "We're not like those other pairs, Sir."

"But... there is no cure?"

And of course, Hermione's words stung Harry. Cure? Did she want to be away from him so badly? An utterly irrational thought, as he wanted to be rid of the bond as much as she did, yet it came across Harry's mind anyway.

Hermione, having now felt anxiety, confusion, and finally _hurt_ from Harry with no direct thoughts to explain his feelings turned to stare at him. "What!? What did I say?"

"N-Nothing!"

"Children!" Dumbledore interrupted, bringing the both of them back on topic once more. "You will need to be guided by another pair that already has a Soul Bond. I would not have your friendship ruined without giving you the best possible chance to salvage it. I fear the stress of your situation may already be eroding your bonds. It is the Hedgehog's Dilemma at its strongest. The closer you grow, the more pain you will feel."

Hermione nodded. "You... said there were two? Two couples who didn't hate each other... in all your life? Who were they? _"Only two, in all his life? Harry... are we strong enough to be the third?" _

"_Yes." _

And for the first time, Hermione found herself struck dumb by Harry's emotion. He was a tightly bottled person. He also heard many more of her thoughts than she heard of his. He didn't think in a constant internal monologue as she did. But that emotion. That _utter unfailing conviction_. It would move mountains and swallow oceans. Her doubts faded. Yes. Of course they were strong enough.

Once again they smiled at one another. This roller coaster of emotion... both had been thrown in the front seat.

"_You really are a Hero you know?" _

Harry blushed. _"Thanks. I wouldn't be anything without you though... and Ron of course."_

"The first couple," said Dumbledore with an expression of grief. "I'm afraid they perished in the last war. But the second... well! I imagine they might be slightly offended to be called a couple, truly."

"Can we learn from them?" Hermione asked, excited.

For a third time pure _need_ flowed through the bond. Harry couldn't stop the thought any more than he could... well. Catch the sun and put it in a treasure box.

_"Does learning new things actually turn her on?" _Harry's winced realizing quickly that the idle thought had not been private.

Hermione's jaw, predictably, dropped open. "Harry James Potter!" _"I take it back! You're not a hero! Pervert! Closet pervert!"_

"_Ironic coming from a girl fresh from snogging in the broom closet!" _retorted Harry.

"_That was different! Ron... his kisses were..."_

Of course that led to Hermione's emotion for Ron, and they were tinged with a sort of joy that Harry wanted no part of. Unfortunately the emotion didn't contain the context so instead of becoming truly green, Harry just grew... weirdly wistful.

Finally Dumbledore's patience had begun to wear thin. "Enough!" He shouted. He of course hadn't actually heard any of their argument. All he saw was the sudden, quickfire changes in expression. They told him more than enough.

Once again, the two were brought to heel; thoughts and attention turned to face the old headmaster. The twinkle was gone from his eye.

"As I feared... if a mere stray thought, one of no doubt relatively innocent nature, can send you to into such fits of anger at one another, perhaps we should separate you. The soul bond's advantage will not be lost for some time, more than enough to teach you both Occlumency, but if either of you... much as it pains me, were to transfer to another school the bond could slowly be bled until your magics are strong enough to pick back up without one another. However... getting rid of the bond would take years apart if it has already progressed as far as it seems to have."

Both their eyes widened. "NO!"

"Headmaster! You can't send Hermione away! She loves it here! I couldn't live without her here! Er... and Ron... She..."

"Harry loves this place! I won't let you take him from here! And from me! We're..."

As one the two realized what they were saying. Crimson was a pale word to describe the color their faces flushed to.

The headmaster's gentle smile returned. Master manipulator that he was, the children's reactions were unsurprising. "Well... then you're going to have to learn to live with the new quirks you are finding in each other. Fifteen is a difficult age for any young man or woman. I'm sure both of you are beginning to think of romance... You _MUST _learn to, if not accept, then at least tolerate the stray thoughts that cross your minds! Otherwise... I fear for your own safety that I truly may have to send one of you away."

Faced with an ultimatum like that, what could either of them say?

"Yes, sir." they intoned.

"Now," Dumbledore continued. "The second successful soul bond I've found in my years are a relatively young pair. You actually know them both quite well. They are a few years your senior."

Hermione was flummoxed. Who did they know that was their senior... with access to something so complicated? Remus perhaps? Auror Shacklebolt? Maybe...?

Harry, however, latched instantly on to the almost obvious conclusion.

"You...! Sir, you can't mean–!?"

* * *

"Aaahh-Choo!"

"Bless you, brother."

"Why thank you! Someone must be talking about us, Fred."

George shrugged. "If so, I feel sorry for Harry."

Fred nodded sagely. "Ah, indeed. He must never be able to stop sneezing."

"Quite."

Elsewhere in the castle, a bushy brown haired girl gave an almost _mournful _sigh._ "Oh good lord..."_

* * *

"Got it!" The raven-haired girl hissed with success as her fingers closed snugly around the golden snitch. Wind beat at her hair and the warming charms, along with her heavy Ravenclaw-colored coat, were the only things keeping her from freezing in the cool air of the evening.

Her broom was steady, her eyes filled with light. Joy filled her as it did so rarely these days. Few things took her from her brooding, but she could always count on Quidditch to bring her a smile. Success... She loved the feel of catching the snitch. Of winding around the stands as crowds cheered and glory of House and adoration of friends washed over her...

Unfortunately, this was merely practice. The crowds she had to imagine at the moment. Easy enough. She'd snagged several wins for Ravenclaw in her time as a seeker.

"Great catch Cho! Seven minutes and thirty six seconds!" Rodger Davies called up from below waving his hands like a madman.

Cho grinned. Seven minutes was pretty damn good. It was a bit different with bludgers running rampant about the pitch and other fliers obscuring everything. Worse, when you went for the snitch you instantly tipped off the other Seeker. Against Potter, that would destroy any chance of catching the snitch. He'd be on you and ahead before you could blink. The other two though? She could handle them. She could outfly Malfoy any day and ever since Hufflepuff had lost Cedric they couldn't...

Cedric...

She shook herself, forcing the tears to stay hidden in their endless wells. Cedric, oh Cedric.

God she was such a mess.

"Come down here Cho!" Rodger called jovially. Couldn't he see how she just wanted to let the snitch go and chase it again? Chase it for hours... let the rest of this cruel world just melt away until the only thing left was her, her broom, and her happier memories.

"_But that would take away Harry too." _

She fumbled her way down to her eccentric captain and feigned a grin. "Good right?"

"Good? Shiit, I think you can beat Potter with flying like that. And in this cold? Amazing!" He shouted. Rodger always shouted but the wind was particularly sharp today.

"That'll be the day..." She said somewhat bitterly. Rodger could never guess the bitterness was for herself and not Potter.

"Oh come on! Someone has to take Potter down and its sure not going to be Malfoy!" He replied.

"Well... we can only hope," Murmured Cho. Her mind was a thousand miles away. Mingled thoughts of the Boy-Who-Lived clouded her mind. Harry. Easy smile, goofy. He was cute when he blushed. She liked him. She liked him more than she cared to admit.

And she was a complete and total bitch for it. Cedric...? God how must he see her? Not even a year under fresh grave dirt and she was already falling in love with another boy. The boy who got him killed no less!

"_God I'm such a mess," _she repeated to herself, still forcefully willing tears to remain where they were, hidden away until she could be alone.

"Anyway it's getting late, you can go in if you want, Cho." Rodger said before straddling his broom once more and beginning to drift away.

"Hey Rodger, do we get to go in too!?" Came a voice from higher up. They both ignored it.

"What about you Rodger? Its getting really cold out. Are you planning on keeping the chasers out all night?" Cho asked in an effort to keep her cool and avoid bawling in the middle of the pitch.

"Er... yeah. I might at that." He replied candidly, a bit of a blush crawling up his cheeks.

She quirked an eyebrow. "Its... its nearly nine. Curfew's getting close Davies," She told him. "Maybe its best to pack up."

Rodger grimaced. "Ah... I'd... like to get as much out of tonight as possible."

Cho gave him a sad look. Rodger loved quidditch and he dearly wanted to win this year. Direly even. But...

"It's Weasley isn't it?" She asked. She didn't envy her team's chasers. Harry was incredible. Always had been really. But Weasley's first game showcased nearly _world class_ quality.

"Its... damn! All this time we'd thought it was Potter we'd have to worry about, so I've been working with you and neglecting my own training. A new fresh Keeper and Wood finally out of the way, I thought we'd be able to trounce Gryffindor! But... Weasley was something else. The _Quidditch World Cup_ didn't have keeping at his level! If... if we even want to _think_ about a victory we're going to have to be out here every spare _minute," _he sighed. "I... don't think I'm good enough. So I'll stay out right till curfew."

Cho smiled. The golden trio. Damn bastards were more trouble than they were worth, and she felt a sort of odd kinship with Davies. "I'll stay out too then. Want a third beater, make it a bit more challenging?"

Davies beamed. "Thanks Cho. We could use all the help we can get."

Cho didn't mention that beating the living snot out of a few bludgers might be wonderfully cathartic for her. The DA was meeting again tomorrow night. Tomorrow night she'd have to deal with these perilous feeling that she couldn't seem to stop. But tonight... well. Tonight she'd could smash a ball or two.

Harry Potter...

Damn.

She was falling in love and she barely even spoke to him.

Cedric must hate her...

* * *

Hermione lay in her bed staring blankly at the bunk above her. All around her roommates nestled cozily and seemed to be sleeping thoughtlessly. Hermione wished she could be so thoughtless now. Powerless to stop it, all of her secrets were slowly spilling themselves out for Harry's perusal.

"Tolerate... yes. I can tolerate this," she said to herself lowly.

"_Hermione?" _

"Yeah?" Hermione spoke aloud.

"I didn't say anything," came Fay's quiet voice from a bunk away.

Hermione blushed. "Er sorry... I'll let you get back to sleep."

Fay cocked an eyebrow but then shrugged and snuggled back into her blankets. The night was chilly but the blankets were extremely warm. Hermione cuddled into them too, and felt Harry doing the same.

"_I'm really sorry, you know. I... don't mean to... erm. Be... you know." _

"_A dirty pervert?" _Hermione shot back in her mind, but this thought was sent with more than a little amusement. She felt laughter bleed through the bond and knew that Harry had accepted the jab for what it was.

"_You're just as bad. I'd never realized just how much... attraction you felt for Ron. You argue all the time... it caught me off guard." _Harry's words gave Hermione a long smile._"Sorry for interrupting it."_

Oh Harry. Always the noble hero. It wasn't a thought but it did cross her mind in an unconscious sort of way. Then his first thought filtered in and she feigned indignance.

"_I am not nearly as bad as you! What I feel for Ron is genuine! Clean!" _she laughed. Unfortunately thoughts have a way of running away. Keeping stray ones off her lips was easy. Keeping them off her mind... not so much.

"_Of course I've thought about you in that broom closet with me too, though." _

She lay back, rolling her neck and staring at the bunk above her. The thought seemed just fine to have. Then the blood drained from her face...

"_T-Tell me you didn't just hear that...?" _she begged. Her hands covered her face in sudden and complete shame. _"I... it was an accident. I didn't mean! Er.. I... I... I!" _

Laughter filtered across the bond. Huge gulping laughs that lightened Hermione's mood considerably. She was utterly embarrassed but Harry's amusement was affecting her.

"_What...? its not as if you're unattractive Harry."_

"_Its just... surprising!" _

"_Oh, and the fact that you want to knock your boots with Cho in your room at the Weasley's wasn't supposed to be a shocker for me?" _Hermione retorted. _"In fact I'm surprised _I'm_ not in any of your fantasies!" _

Abruptly Hermione felt a flood of new emotions. Feelings. Powerful images that conveyed a whole deluge of fantasies. She could feel him frantically trying to collect his thoughts. Clear his mind, but he couldn't hold them back. They opened for her, his deepest thoughts of her emptied before her like a sack of treasures.

They coalesced into a hundred images. Risque images of herself in revealing clothing with a scandalous look about her flashed by at a thousand frames per second.

Harry refused to let that happen though. Hermione could tell that he had to _will_ himself to drop the dirtier images in favor of one she wouldn't be offended by.

Honestly most of the images left her flattered more than offended, but the one he finished with left her with pure amusement.

Powerful. Harry, yet _not_ Harry. A comically tall and muscled Harry Potter stood holding a Lightsaber from Star Wars. In the background, a menacing figure stood cloaked in shadow, his own red lightsaber flaring. Perhaps the most important feature of the image was Hermione. The stunning model of a woman with Hermione's face sheltering protected behind Harry and his blazing green blade of light was every bit as stunning as Harry's own image was comical.

It was Hermione's turn to laugh.

"_Shut up! That was private!" _Harry hissed, defensively.

"_I don't think we _have... _private. Not anymore. I..." _through her laughter Hermione wheezed. _"Sorry. Harry. Heh..." _

It was sweet in a way. Harry's fantasy of her, perhaps his strongest one, was protecting her.

Abruptly she realized a sudden and definite difference between the two of them.

Harry thought in pictures. Not words. All she had to do was learn to _see_ what he was thinking. She'd been trying to _hear _it all this time, but unlike her, Harry didn't think the same way very often.

"_So what sort of fantasies do you have about me then!?" _Harry bated, interrupting her thought process. She'd been ready for that though. Hermione wasn't going to fall for the same trap.

"_La la la la! Beatles in the summer! Springtime rain. Mother moppet! Laa laa laaa!" _She thought furiously avoiding any thoughts regarding Harry. It worked.

"_Unfair." _he pouted.

She giggled.

"_This is... actually kind of fun. What other little secrets are you hiding in that head of yours Harry Potter?" _She asked.

He answered.

Hermione gulped at the next image. It was... Scary.

Dudley Dursley had been stabbed in the heart with a kitchen knife. His bleeding corpse lay on the couch of the Dursley's living room. Harry Potter sat nearby on the floor watching the tely and and stuffing his face with Cheetos, laughing and all around ignoring the dying boy.

"_H-Harry...?" _

Shame filtered through the bond. Self loathing too, and suddenly Hermione felt awful. _"M-maybe... not so fun." _

"_I... didn't... Hermione I..." _

"_No. No, you showed me. I can't say I haven't had thoughts like that..." _

Hermione had difficulty dredging up thoughts and forming them into pictures like Harry but she painstakingly did so. Third year. Draco Malfoy. She'd socked him in the face that day instead, but what she'd _wanted_ to do had been far worse. What she'd _wanted _to do was cast an _Accio _on the boy's tongue. The resulting image still satisfied her in some sick way.

"_Would've served the ferret right," _Harry said. _"Lets... go back to lighter things though." _

"_Yes... please." _Hermione replied, feeling a little somber.

And for the first time in nearly four hours neither had or heard a thought.

"_Err... Like what?" _Harry asked, completely lost.

And Hermione had no idea.

Her thoughts whirled in a strange mixture that Harry wouldn't be able to understand as they came so quickly and so varied. She likened the situation to a long car drive with an acquaintance. For the first two hours or so the conversation would be fun. The pair might play word games and stumble upon common interests. Banter would be light and amicable until the pair realized that the topic is a passion for something utterly silly, like a love of a certain shoe brand or a single favored song.

Then as if running into a brick wall, they suddenly find that the great well of conversation, so easy to start, runs utterly dry. Both parties stall, trying to come up with conversation but realize that beyond that one shining topic they have absolutely no common interests.

That wasn't a good analogy, she realized, as she and Harry had been friends for years, but in this instance it fit. They'd been in each other's heads for _four hours, _and feeling each other's emotions for days.

Suddenly, there just wasn't anything to talk about.

"_I... guess we should probably try to get some sleep," _Hermione tried. _"Maybe... we'll be able to figure out more in the morning." _

"Y-Yeah. Okay. I'll... see you in the morning."

"_I'll see you too Harry!"_

But nothing was that simple. It was like the kiss goodnight at the doorstep, only to find yourself handcuffed to the other person.

Three hours later, the time was nearing four in the morning. Both were still wide awake, bleary eyed. Neither had been able to sleep a wink.

Hermione was exhausted. Despite his stringent effort not to speak _to _her, Harry had been absolutely unable to calm the series of thoughts that were almost constantly climbing through his mind. In turn, Hermione thought of more inane nothings and subtle intelligent nuances in one minute than most people might voice in a lifetime.

Harry dealt with Hermione's nearly incomprehensible babble of thoughts spinning around her love of learning, her fondness for Ron, her utter _loathing_ of Gregory Goyle. Just that would've probably been alright. But he couldn't even _begin_ to have suspected the _endless endless _lists the girl piled in her head. It is almost impossible to count the sheer number of thoughts that might cross a normal person's mind during the twilight just before sleep might take them. Hermione's brain was more efficient than any seven normal people combined.

They ranged from the ridiculously complex:

"_-core of Element Zero contained by spinning Gyroscopic rings five kilometers across. In theory these fields, these... Relays if placed in deep space, could serve as a form of instantaneous transportation to muggle spacecraf–"_

To the perilously mundane:

"_I wonder if Ron has ever gone skinny dipping?"_

Of course that particular thought had generated a picture of Harry staring at her with a half-lidded eye that almost _screamed, "Really, Hermione? Really?" _

Harry, for his part, was probably even worse. His thoughts often provided Hermione with vivid details of whatever abstract thing was on his mind at the time:

Harry was a scientist in a lab coat experimenting on Professor Snape's hair as it had coagulated into a brand new element on the periodic table. No, Harry was a hero from the middle ages stopping fat pompous lords like Vernon Dursley from taxing the poor people of his fiefdom, all of whom bore Harry Potter's face.

He saw a great chess board only there were four players instead of two, and each piece was lined with the House colors. Gryffindor and Slytherin practically trouncing the other two houses in their mad dive to get at each other's throats.

But that was temporary. Harry, being moody after all that had happened to him already, and stressed over Umbridge's attitude for this last year, was relatively self centered. Most his thoughts reflected upon himself. What he was. What he wanted to be. What he could be.

He was a master wizard and married to Parvarti Potter of all people. No. He was a pauper reviled because a girl saw him kiss a snake. No, he was a banker. No, he was a _goblin_ banker.

He saw Tom Riddle summoning a basilisk from the mouth of Slytherin's statue. Weirdly, this image was comical as he couldn't stop making oral sex jokes.

He was a star Quidditch player.

No he was a _horrible Q_uidditch player, wearing Chudley Cannon's colors.

He rode a joyous Hippogriff, an Asian beauty clutching his chest tightly. The feel of her was familiar, as she had the same grip Hermione had had in third year...

He was Cho Chang's lover and they kissed under starlight on the astronomy tower.

He was Ron Weasley and Hermione was kissing him in the broom closet.

…

He was horny.

"_Really Harry? Really?"_

Thoughts... pictures... emotions...

Endless... endless trade that neither could stop.

Soon, the two grew numb to the ridiculous thoughts each couldn't help but think. Neither had any control over what they thought... for who truly can control _everything_ that crosses their mind?

Neither attended classes the next morning, or in fact for the entire next day. For by the time they had fallen asleep of sheer and utter exhaustion, it was nearly five in the morning.

And somewhere in the castle, Dumbledore hummed, having knowingly given the two leave to skip all of their classes away.

It would be a hard week... a hard year... a hard life for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. But Dumbledore was reasonably sure he'd finally solved a little mystery that had been plaguing him for so long. After all, James and Lily Potter had been able to get through it, and they'd bloody_ hated_ each other.

He munched on a lemon drop.

* * *

He had a dark secret. Hidden, buried as best he could for as long as he could remember, the boy of fifteen had kept this secret like hoarded treasure. Guarded it, bound it, and locked it away behind bar and key. But in the depths of cold nights, he sometimes dared to think upon his secret. His voice. His little power that he'd kept so hidden.

His parents didn't know. For they would exploit him and use his secret to better themselves. They were bad confidents and greedy. He wasn't smart but he wasn't stupid either. He knew enough not to dangle secrets in front of greedy people.

His friends didn't know. One was too sharp. Too smart. He would use the secret and forget about the person who gave it to him. The other, too stupid. He wouldn't even understand the secret at all.

And so the secret stayed hidden.

No one ever noticed that anything he predicted in Divination inevitably came true. He took care to only use his little secret on things that anyone with half a brick of common sense could figure out without it. To let it out in small, unnoticeable ways so it would remain hidden.

Though that was impossible. The secret. The power. It _burned_ to be used. Normally he could control it. Tonight though, that secret, that burning itch that had always hidden just beyond the reach of others, bubbled to the surface, far too fiercely to hold back.

The young Diviner spoke.

No.

He _sang._

"_Long ago, High above,  
was Terror torn asunder.  
The starless fell!  
Tyrael!  
And song and dance and wonder._

_Demon waltz, Devil sly,  
was Terror still alive?  
The starless slept!  
And children wept.  
The seven did survive._

_Stone to stall, Word to bind,  
weak Terror, sealed once more.  
Little spirit,  
Can you hear it?  
What are you waiting for?_

_Stone to break, Word to wither!  
was Terror taking flight?  
Leah Cain!  
Lightning Chain!  
O Holy Pair Unite._

_For Terror walks these halls tonight...  
Yes, Terror walks these halls tonight..."_

No one was awake to hear this strange song. He knew his gift was exceedingly rare. Most diviners couldn't remember true words from the beyond. Most forgot, or didn't even realize when they had been touched by it, let alone able to reach out and grab these hidden words on purpose.

For him it was as easy as reading a book. This was not the first prophecy he'd sung that had mentioned the Lightning Chain. He knew, _he just knew_ that it had to have something to do with Potter's scar. That would only make sense!

But there was a piece missing. Lighting Chain. It was like his scar was linked to something... but what?

_What?  
_

The Slytherin student huddled under his covers as he finished writing the poem down on parchment by the light of his wand's lumos. This was a strong one, laced with meaning. He _loved_ finding the hidden meanings behind his divination. He loved the puzzle, weirdly enough, as he was just as fond of eating cupcakes and growling menacingly at little firsties.

But eh. He was a complicated man.

And he had a secret.

* * *

Neville was a nervous sort of person. That had been slowly changing over the past few months. Little by little he felt slightly more confident. With each new meeting of the DA he felt himself growing in skill. He was starting to think of himself as valuable, fun even. His newfound friends had taken a liking to him and people went out of their way to sit next to him in the Great Halls.

Despite all of the crap Umbridge had pulled so far, Neville had to admit that this had so far been his _best_ year at Hogwarts. He had friends, he was finally able to stop his bloody stuttering, or at least manage it, and his grades were sharply improving.

"Neville. I want you to hold me," said Luna Lovegood in a no nonsense tone.

Neville was a blubbering mess.

While his jaw hung open, Luna wandered directly into his bubble, turned around and laid her back gently against his chest. Still shocked out of his wits, the poor boy stumbled but didn't have far to fall as his back was next to one of the large stone walls.

"L-Luna, why are...!? What...?"

"Please hush... just..." She grabbed his arm and swung it around herself clutching it closely as if to draw warmth from it.

"Something... bad. Something bad is coming to Hogwarts. I'm afraid Neville... so... please?"

Another moment of stunned silence passed before Neville gained enough of his wits to comprehend her words. Still another passed before he reacted. His arm trailed around her to meet his other, locking together around her stomach in an embrace that anyone would've called adorable.

"Wh-why me? I... I'm..."

She tilted her head up, and Neville realized suddenly how very small she was. He blushed feverishly but a sudden sense of boyish heroism overtook him. If the girl felt scared then dammit he was a Longbottom! He'd protect her.

"Alright then," he finished with more confidence than he'd thought himself capable of. "Do you know what's coming, Luna. I'm sure Harry will need to know."

"_Harry can find out later..." _she thought, both annoyed and endeared by his reaction.

Her unvoiced words flittering around in her heart were selfish. She knew they were but she couldn't help it. Yes, something _was_ coming. Something Terrible. And inevitably it would be up to Harry to stop it. But for now... for a little while... she wanted Neville to feel the Hero.

Because for some strange reason... he _was_ to her.

Deep beneath Hogwarts, a glistening blood red gem cracked just a hair further.

* * *

"WAAAaghghg!" Hermione screamed in intangible horror. She'd woken up feeling refreshed. She'd yawned a languorous yawn, stretching with the morning and smiling to herself. What a _great_ sleep!

And then reality filtered into her mind in its usual way.

"Aghghghh! I'm LATE!" She screeched.

She scrambled out of bed like a lunatic and her feet caught in her blankets; she tumbled headfirst onto the floor. The clock read 7:45. Class had begun forty five _minutes _ago! She'd... she'd never _been_ late! This was all Harry's fault!

"Hermione! Calm down!" Lavender Brown's voice sounded in the background but Hermione barely even noticed in her mad rush. Her eyes darted around her wildly. She fumbled to get up from the mess of blankets she'd dragged to the floor with her with little success.

"Lavender!? What are you doing here! We're _both_ late!" She screamed again in panic. Tears were nearly welling in her eyes as she dashed to her vanity an opened the lower drawer where she kept her next day's uniform. It was pressed and pristine as it always was but she didn't give it half the care it deserved, snatching it out of the drawer and madly pulling it on.

"_Hermione!" _Lavender's shout pierced the room just as she pulled her head out of the robe.

"_What?!" _She hissed back at the other girl, finally turning her eyes to her.

But Hermione almost instantly latched on to the problem...

It was 7:45 alright. At _night._ Moonlight faded in through the window, landing gently on the sill and flooding the room with a soft glow that was matched by the candlelight on Lavender's desk.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Lavender chuckled lightly at the bushy-haired girl. "Dumbledore stopped by early this morning. He excused you from classes. He asked one of us to watch you for the day and said you'd be exhausted. I volunteered. I... hope you don't mind."

"I... I..." for a moment the words didn't even register. Then her racing heart died down and she examined the words very slowly.

Excused. Watched... exhausted. Well yes, she certainly had been tired. Shrewdly, she gleaned the fact that Dumbledore _knew_ that she and Harry wouldn't be getting any sleep last night. The old coot had _known_! _Bloody old man. _Why _was_ she so faithful in him anyway?

But this was quickly overwhelmed by the inherent relief that simply _flowed _through her as she realized that the headmaster had excused her from her classes. There would be no repercussions other than being a bit behind.

Wait...

Oh no!

"My homewor–!"

"Right here, girl," said Lavender with a grin, lightly patting three books and a bit of paper with her own admittedly neater handwriting on the top. "Got six inches on the _Episkey_ spell from Flitwick. Snape gave a bugger of a lot of study material and said there would be a test in two days. Pages 89 to 113. Nothing in Transfiguration. Lucky that, but my notes will tell you better than I can remember."

"Oh you're a lifesaver, Lavender!" Hermione cried and unexpectedly, found herself wrapping her arms around the other girl.

Many people would be startled by Hermione's enthusiasm but Lavender had lived with the girl for nearly five years now. You don't live close that long without picking up a few of the odd kinks others have, and Lavender knew well of Hermione's passion for her classes.

Honestly the girl was so cool and collected most the time. It was unnerving how much... power Hermione radiated sometimes. Particularly if she was studying with a purpose. Lavender remembered the girl reading about ways to breath underwater for Harry last year during the Triwizard tournament. Her dedication was... fearsome.

Seeing her worry and fret made Lavender feel much more at home than the near Ice Queen persona Hermione often displayed without even realizing it. Hermione wasn't cold. Just... distracted by her books most the time.

"No need to thank me! I knew you'd be _devastated _if you didn't have even one ounce of _Homework. _Why I'm sure you'd start feeling the withdrawal. Probably break out in hives. We'd find you clawing at one of the professor's doors in an hour or two begging for an assignment I'm sure."

Nearby Parvarti, whom Hermione hadn't noticed until now, laughed. Hermione blushed.

"I'm not that bad..." she murmured.

Lavender gave the girl a knowing raise of her eyebrow.

"Oh what do you know?" Hermione barked as she turned back to the vanity and began tugging off her school uniform.

Parvarti caught Lavender's eyes and gave her a strong gesture. The meaning was obvious. _"Go on! Ask what happened!" _

Lavender preened happy to be able to feed her love of gossip. What _had _Dumbledore excused Hermione and Harry from classes for? She _had to know!_

"So... what happened yesterday?"

"Yeah!" Parvarti intoned. "Why'd the Headmaster want you and Harry?"

"Does it have something to do with why you're–!"

Abruptly Lavender's question cut off, just as Hermione dragged her uniform off her head.

Dead Silence.

Hermione turned her eyes to her two roommates and frowned. Lavender's jaw was hanging open. Parvarti had raised a quivering finger to point without realizing she was even doing so.

"Wh-what? What is–?" Hermione tried to respond before she realized _exactly_ what they were staring at.

Her Lightning Bolt Scar.

* * *

**Unrest in the Heart of Britain  
**_by Bartholomew Evinder_

_Harry Potter. Albus Dumbledore. Need I say more? Conversations are already beginning around your living room tables at just these names alone. Both once commanded undeniable respect from the eyes of our world. Dumbledore for his actions and Potter for his anonymity and mysteriousness. _

_In recent years they have both been painted in a different light._

_You've heard a thousand thousand rumors surrounding the Boy-Who-Lived. Last year he was the fourth champion in a National Tournament designed for only three competitors. He was famed then for his cleverness. Who else could dupe the ancient relic, the Goblet of Fire, into allowing him into such a prestigious tournament? _

_Not this Author, that is certain. _

_But for his actions then he was called a glory hound and an attention monger. A liar and a scoundrel. His strong showing in the competition lent a few points of credence to his flimsy story that someone else had put his name in, but only just that. _

_Then whatever good standing he had was crushed by the death of his co-competitor Cedric Diggory, and his ridiculous claim that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned from his grave._

_Dumbledore was similar. Two years ago he was nearly removed from his position as headmaster due to inexplicable attacks upon students. Despite that setback he had been building his reputation back to its original glory rather quickly before the final event of the Triwizard Tournament._

_All that was gone in an instant when he backed Harry Potter's claim. _

_Fool! Doddering halfwit! Nincompoop! He was called this and many more unsavory names for his belief in the Attention seeking "Brat-Who-Lived." Yet he held to his convictions as has Harry Potter._

_Of course this had to be nonsense. Harry Potter has 'shown' himself to be a boy crying wolf. No evidence supports his claim! He had no proof, no scrap of detail, nor any story he was willing to give that would explain his sudden belief. Nothing except the body of the late Mr. Diggory, God Rest his Soul._

_Recent events, however, suggest that Harry Potter, might not be the liar we all thought him to be after all. _

_In a recent press conference, Madam Delores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and High Inquisitor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, revealed that she had been attacked. The result of this attack has left the woman minus her left arm. _

_Further, she has been attacked by a Dark Wizard of evil intent. Her words were evasive at the conference, never directly stating what or who it was that attacked her. However, through her unspoken words, she implied heavily that she had forcibly removed her own arm rather than receive a certain... Mark. _

_In addition, she offered a formal apology for her words and actions to Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, before resigning from the position of Senior Undersecretary. It is unclear if she is resigning her Post as High Inquisitor at Hogwarts. _

_What does this all mean? Well. It could mean any number of things. Perhaps Umbridge was swayed by Potter's rumored charm, or perhaps she was saved from her attacker by Dumbledore's quick spell work. Whatever the case, this turn of events is unsettling. _

_Potter and Dumbledore have given ridiculous claims. But those of us who remember. Those of us who lived through the terrible years of You-Know-Who's tyranny have not forgotten. Potter may be an attention monger, and Dumbledore an old fool who has lost his touch with reality, but on the off chance we are wrong, then the Wizarding World will suffer dearly for its doubt in the two we once saw as heroes. _

_This article does not seek to sway opinion. Rather, it seeks to raise a rather worrisome question. What if? On the slightest, slightest chance that Harry Potter is telling the truth, do you want to be caught unaware?_

_This author does not._

The article spread through the great hall faster than fiend fire could spread through dried leaves. Some students were struck _dumb_ by it. Umbridge had lost an arm? Harry might be telling the truth! No! That was impossible! You couldn't rise from the _grave! _Not even You-Know-Who could do that!

But... what if?

It was with mixed feelings that Ron Weasley lay down his copy of the Daily Prophet. The article had been short, but it was front page stuff. It was subtle and slow. Not an outright apology to Harry. Nooo that would reflect _waaay _too badly on the Ministry's reputation. The government didn't admit fault. Even Ron knew that.

His mind wasn't the sharpest, but even he could see this as the sudden olive branch that it was. None of the articles in the rest of the paper decried Harry's belief. None of the articles pointed out Dumbledore's years of lunacy. Instead they were insightful. Reviews of papers released fifteen years ago. Reminders of attacks committed by Death Eaters in the first war and shortly after the Dark Lord's fall. Catalogs for buying quality personal portkeys. Life Insurance ads. Communication Mirrors. All in all, it wasn't very subtle.

For the first time in more than half a year, Ron actually found himself enjoying the Daily Prophet.

"Amazing what comes of spouting something other than bullshit," he remarked idly as he turned the page. "Ooh, look a Protego-Buckler!"

"What's that?" Dean asked as he looked in over Ron's shoulder, curiously eying the paper.

"Pretty much exactly what it sounds like. Draws on your magic and projects a _Protego_ for you when you put it on," Ron replied matter of factly. "New models barely drain your magic it all! My brother Charlie has one. Says it comes in handy for deflecting Dragon's fire."

"_Awesome..." _Dean breathed in the way only known to young boys when speaking of deadly things.

Ron gave a conspiratorial smile. "You know, my dad says we might go visit him this summer. Charlie said he might even be able to let us _ride_ one!"

A slight exaggeration. Charlie had said they might get to _touch_ one. But that meant pretty much the same thing to Ron who hadn't been within ten feet of a dragon since first year. Plus, just touching one wouldn't be impressive at _all._

Ron then caught sight of a familiar pair tiredly entering the room. Guilt and worry slammed through him in equal parts. Admittedly a hair more for Hermione than for Harry. But only a hair. Harry had been utterly exhausted all day. He hadn't even _budged_ when Ron had shaken him this morning, trying to wake him up. Luckily, Dumbledore had stopped by and asked him to watch over Harry for the day. A chance to skip class? Of _course_ Ron had jumped on board. Harry didn't make a peep the whole day.

He'd heard Hermione was in a similar state and that had worried him for the most of the day. Seeing her awake, if tired, relieved him more than he cared to admit. Still, the striped scarf of red and gold around her neck served to remind him of her strength.

"Oi Hermione! Harry!" Ron called out from his seat waving his two friends over.

Whispers ran amok and several eyes stole curious glances at Harry as he walked, making him feel distinctly like it was fourth year all over again. Or second year. Or even first for that matter.

Hermione felt his discomfort and gave him a tired, yet reassuring smile. This was just another obstacle in a long list of things he'd already accomplished. Whatever the rumors were this time, he could get through them.

Through the bond she told him so and his slightly tired eyes lit with a beam.

"Damn, you two look like hell," Dean commented with all the subtlety of a shotgun.

Hermione glared. Harry did too.

"_I hate your breath. You smell like treacle tart _all the time!"

_"You snore," _Harry thought; then to Hermione he amended._ "He bloody snores every night."_

"We've had a rough time of it. I guess there was some sort of... aftershock from the attack," Harry put out tiredly trying to cover for their bedraggled appearance and inwardly rude bites back at the boy.

"Well I'm glad to see you two up again. Its a little late though. You just going to go back to sleep after dinner?" Ron asked curiously. He opened his arm to offer Hermione the seat right next to him.

She flushed giddily and sat, feeling Ron's arm settle over her shoulder.

Harry rolled his eyes, feeling Ron's arm settle over _his_ shoulder.

"Probably," Hermione said as she began to pile some vegetables and a bit of chicken onto the bare plate already set out for her. Harry took the seat next to her and began to do the same, feeling terribly uncomfortable.

"Well, you might want to take a look at this before you head back up," Ron intoned gesturing vaguely to the paper placed before him.

"Oh what, _now?" _Harry groaned as he saw the Daily Prophet's hated letters and the moving pictures of what looked like an old photo of the... the Dark Lord? Well that was interesting.

The image was well known and famous. The person who'd taken the photo had died for his efforts but he'd managed to catch a photograph of Lord Voldemort descending upon him as he did so. Fifteen years gone. Harry's skin crawled. Voldemort looked every bit as menacing then as he did now.

Glancing over the top of the article he found rubbish.

"This article just snipes at me and Dumbledore all over again! I thought that Umbridge might change something!"

Ron shook his head. "No, read on. It's actually a decent article; I promise."

Harry did so.

Hermione, meanwhile, was greeted with a picture of the article in her mind that was blank of text but filled with the moving pictures. Without even looking over Harry's shoulder, she found herself reading along as the words appeared on Harry's mental image as he read them. Curiously, they faded quickly behind him once he'd finished reading them, dissolving into the depths of his mind.

"Hermione!" Came a shout from the Great Hall's entrance. It wasn't too loud but it did pierce the cacophony of conversation enough to catch the four Gryffindors' attention. "You can't run from us forever!"

The Granger girl _moaned. _

"Don't worry about it Hermione..." Harry said just a hair sarcastically. "This is just another obstacle on a long list of things you've already accomplished."

Hermione glared at him as she heard her own thoughts, meant to be reassuring, thrown back at her. Why was he being so spiteful?

Guilt.

"_Sorry Hermione... It's just a little nice not to be in the spotlight for once," _thought Harry, truly apologetic. Then a sort of wistfulness crept in. _"Enjoy your fans!"_

"_Traitor!" _Hermione screamed as Lavender and Parvarti rushed up to her.

"How did it happen!" Lavender exclaimed breathlessly.

Right on her heels, Parvarti added, "Are you okay? Does it hurt? You've got to tell us!"

"Tell them what?" Dean interjected confused as he also focused his gaze on Hermione. The girl shrunk in on herself, a little intimidated by the sudden attention.

"I... er..."

"She's the bloody _Girl Who Lived_, that's what!" Lavender nearly shouted.

Their conversation was drawing the curious eyes of other Gryffindors and not a few Hufflepuffs from the next table over.

Ron, surprisingly, broke it off before it could go any further, his tone suddenly low and menacing. "Drop that horseshit, Lavender. Harry's already got You-Know-Who trying to kill him every year," he nearly hissed, eyes white with near fury which startled everyone at the table. "Want him going after _Hermione, too_?"

Lavender's eyes widened in sudden horror and realization, her mouth forming a wide oh. Wringing her hands in sudden guilt she turned to face Hermione. "O-Oh... god I-I didn't think–!"

"_A little harsh Ron," _Harry thought.

Hermione, rather irritatingly in Harry's opinion, swooned and grimaced in equal parts.

"It's... it's okay, Ron." Hermione protested. "I'm just... glad to be alive."

The two girl's stood there guiltily wringing their hands. Neither wanted to say anything but both fidgeted, clearly almost _begging_ Hermione for the story behind her new curse scar. Unnoticed by anyone, Dean too, had his eyes fixated on the _Girl-Who-Lived. _

* * *

Minister Fudge had a terrible glint in his eye. No one had ever seen him so... _angry._ Odder still, no one had ever heard him act so terribly confident. He'd always been a charismatic man, no doubt. He'd reached the highest level of authority in all the wizarding world and that spoke of, at the very least, a sharp tongue.

But he'd grown complacent since his last election. The populace had loved him and he had loved them in turn, rarely fearing for his place as Minister for Magic. He knew this.

Now, though? Everything had changed.

Now, he had an enemy.

No more time for games.

"Weasley," he said darkly as the clearly exhausted redhead entered the room. "I trust you got my message to the International Confederation? I put a lot of trust in you with that letter. You didn't let me down did you?"

Percy flushed a little. He'd been nervous as a schoolgirl on a first date but he'd managed to get the job done. "I read the letter at the meeting you called. It... well the ministers expressed their worries but they wanted to talk with you in person. I have a few of the more important messages: France, Germany, Belgium. The others said they'd be sending Owls."

Fudge nodded. "Good, good. Make sure those owls are intercepted quickly. And– wait a minute. Weren't you here at three this morning?"

Percy looked slightly abashed but gave a reluctant nod.

"Good god, boy, get out of here! I need you rested tomorrow!" Fudge barked sharply, knowing that Weasley would be worse than useless if he didn't get some sleep tonight. So would _he _for that matter. Inwardly, he longed for his red chair. But no. He was far too busy. Working behind his desk simply wouldn't be enough at the moment. Far too much to do.

"S-Sir. You've been up since then as well. I want to help! If... You-Know-Who really _is _back I..." Percy gulped audibly but stood firmly.

Fudge gave a thin smile. Yes. Weatherby really _would_ make one hell of a Minister one day.

But not today.

"Go home. You've done more than enough today Weasley. And thank you. I'll be alright. I'll probably take my bed in no more than a few hours anyway. Send for Lilian. She's no you, but she'll do while you get some rest." Fudge said.

The boy preened, glowing with pride. And Fudge couldn't blame him. He wasn't exactly free with compliments after all.

"Yes sir."

As Percy left the room, Fudge sighed. Everything had been going so _well._ Dumbledore _had_ to be right though. In retrospect, it was stupid of him not to trust the old man. How many times had he gone to Dumbledore for advice? Only _now_ when the man was at his most wise, had Fudge denied his council.

'_Fool. Foolish foolish fool,' _he berated himself.

And the wizarding world would pay for his mistake. If Madam Umbridge was right, and she almost _always_ was, then the world would pay in blood. Distressingly, she had resigned from her position as Senior Undersecretary, and Fudge found himself happy about that.

She'd been influenced by a dark object. Her opinions had been skewed, for months at least, maybe even _years_. She didn't remember how long she'd _had_ the locket she spoke of. Had she inadvertently aided the return of the Dark Lord? Probably. He thought back to the Werewolf Registration Act. It had seemed so... out of character for her.

He'd never felt like such a failure in all his life. But he was the God-Damned Minister for Magic. And he had warning. A hell of alot more warning than Crouch had before Voldemort started his first war. That was an advantage. One that Fudge had to capitalize on.

He strode out of the Office of Historical Records, limping a little. He hadn't walked as much in a year as he had in the past two days. Worse, his eyes were tired. Reading was something he was used to of course. He'd been reading for half the day though whenever he could get a spare moment from preparing. Reading about the last war. Reading about Crouch. About the mistakes he'd made. About how Voldemort had infiltrated the Ministry. How every Auror raid was turned inside out. How men fell and died facing a force that seemed to know the Ministry's every plan.

He would _not be another Crouch._

The door opened.

"Ah Lilian," He said quickly, stepping in beside the middle aged woman. "Tell me, have you gotten anywhere on those case files?"

"Y-Yes sir." She stuttered. Silly girl. She had no need to be nervous around a fat old mistake like Cornelius Fudge. She was anyway. They all were. Two days ago that had made him feel proud.

Now he felt like he'd let his whole country down.

He wouldn't have it.

_He wouldn't._

'_The article wasn't very subtle. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will probably realize that we've clued in to the fact that he is risen. Bah. Maybe it would've been better to let him believe we've still got our thumbs up our asses. Well, cat is probably out of the bag now. How to proceed...?' _

He'd deliberated over this endlessly until he'd finally decided on a course. The history proved it, and surprisingly Fudge found himself in an eerily similar position to Crouch twenty years before.

The truth was that he had been taking bribes. Lucius Malfoy had held his ear, and he had trusted the man for a long time. But further digging had revealed a tiny, tiny portion of where the man's money was going.

Crippling the rights of werewolves. Reckless, even if Madam Umbridge had supported it. Budget cuts from the Aurors. Foolish. Slackening of the guards on Azkaban. Idiotic! A hundred quite firings of good employees, and a hundred quiet hirings of Knockturn Alley scum. It was as if this one puzzle piece had dropped a cascade of information that Fudge had previously been utterly blind to. Lucius had been weakening the Ministry from the inside all along.

God he was such a fool.

But, how to get things back to right? Well. First off, he had to deal with the corruption in the Ministry itself. Its defenders, the Aurors, were paramount.

Then, when he had a trustworthy force at his back, he would deal with Malfoy.

"Lilian. Take this note to the Head of Internal Affairs along with those case files you collected. Nabius Puckman, I believe his name is. Yes. Don't open it the letter. I'll know if it is opened by anyone but him. Give him the files, too."

She nodded.

Fudge nodded back at her and without a word the woman took off at near a sprint towards the elevators. Such a silent girl. Fudge found her a little odd.

No matter. The cases would be opened. _Every case, _in which a Death Eater had been freed for giving up other names. Every single one.

'_Ah, right that reminds me. I'll have to make subtle inquiries to Belgium's minister. Karkaroff. Bloody hell, getting him is going to be a right shitstorm,' _thought the minister.

He hobbled a little more quickly. It was nearly time.

A short elevator ride and a few doors saw Fudge walking into the Auror department. No words were exchanged. Their orders had all been given out directly, and randomly.

"_A secret meeting will be occurring tonight. You are to be at the fourth trial hall, upper stairwell. Tell no one." _He'd given these orders to almost a hundred different Aurors, each with a different place and a different time.

He gave Scrimgeour a nod, and the head auror followed him. The man would be his personal guard tonight, along with two other men who stood at Fudge's summons. Scrimgeour himself. Mad-Eye Moody, pulled from retirement, and Auror Arwood. Fudge trusted none as much as those three. Along with them came one other person.

William Vrienfreid was a tall man with a long black beard, and whispy hair. Probably in his forties the man was a little bit portley. He was completely unassuming and he had been Fudge's friend since they'd been in Hogwarts together. He was also a Master Legilimens. That wasn't the man's official title of course. But it was true nonetheless.

Fudge's plan was simple. He had often found in life, that simple plans worked best.

Three minutes later he found himself walking towards the first of many meetings he would be having tonight.

"Auror Greene." Fudge said in a cheerful, yet soft greeting. He didn't want to startle the Auror. This business was serious.

The man was a little skittish. It wasn't every day a lowly auror received direct orders from the Minister himself. Tall and wiry, he backed against the wall at the intimidating approach of Fudge flanked by his three guards and the Master Legilimens.

"M-Minister! Sir! Ah, Master Scrimgeour, good to see you tonight! W-What did you wish to speak with me about?"

"First, Auror. Tell me. Did you tell _anyone _of our meeting tonight? Anyone at all?"

Greene shook his head in a definite negative.

"O-Of course not sir. I wouldn't tell–agghhk!" Auror Greene twitched suddenly his head cocking as if he was suddenly bit by a horsefly on the side of his head. "Wh-what the hell?"

"He is lying." Vrienfreid uttered slowly.

Fudge glowered. The first one. The _very_ first one.

"Auror Greene, you're under arrest."

The auror's eyes widened in sudden shock. "Wh-what! But I–!"

"_Stupify." _

Fudge sighed. This was going to be a _long_ night, and worst of all the plan wasn't even all that efficient. The poor fools might've just told their wives, not realizing that this plan was a matter of national security. But if he could catch just _one_ Death Eater, one traitor among his ranks, it would be worth it. He needed his Aurors loyal. Every last one. This was just an excuse to interrogate them. He just hoped his plans worked."

Or everyone would suffer for his stupidity.

"_I'm coming for you Voldemort. Not the other way around. You messed with the wrong fat old man..." _

* * *

**End Chapter**

**Author's Notes:**

Well its been a little while. My prereaders appear to have dropped off the face of the planet so I'm hunting for new ones. Anyone with an interest feel free to pm me!

As to the story, what did you think? I realize its starting to feel a little sporadic. That is intentional. The feel of quickly jumping from scene to scene and thought to thought is suppose to allude to the almost endless array of silly thoughts and fancies that run through our minds, and the sheer ridiculousness of having a second person's thoughts shoved in along side.

I hope I've done the concept justice. For once, I actually feel pretty good about this chapter. Its laying good groundwork for the future and has a little something from most of the major players. I really hope you all feel the same!

Please Review and let me know!

**Till Next!**

**MB**


	6. Too Much Pumpkin Juice

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter ain't no creation o' mine ya hear?

**Notice: **I don't bash. I don't _do bashing. _Characters will be portrayed to the best of my ability as canon to start with. A warning. I will probably dramatically diverge them as the story goes on.

**Forward: **Writing this rather quickly after I released my last chapter as I don't want to lose the forward Momentum. Got some relatively good ideas for future plot moments and this chapter is simply full of them.

Apologies to those who just can't stand the Ron/Hermione and Harry/Cho as this chapter will be laced with those elements at the seams. Don't worry. I'll make up for it in the future. I promise promise promise that this story 'is' leading towards the True and Proper Pairing of the world.

And hell. Action is going to start taking the place of the teenage drama soon anyways. _Rakinishu bitches. _

I suppose its not exactly the clearest thing I've ever done but I suppose some of you are probably wondering about the quotes from the beginning of the story that are clearly NOT from the story at all. Telling you what t they are from though is... rather unusual. In my mind the canon characters are sitting in a movie theatre and watching my story play out, commenting all the while. These are... humorously perverted outtakes from that scenario.

That said, lets get this show started!

_We like to compartmentalize. Action Movies are action Movies. Adventure stories are filled with fantasy. Comedy stays with Comedy. And Romance is only Romance. This habit, it is a failure. A story cannot be _just_ comedy or _just_ Drama. Life is all of these things. Think on that the next time you categorize your story. _

_Though for the record, if at any point you yell Yippie Kay Yay Mother Fucker, it had damn well better be an action moment..._

… _Romance is acceptable too. ;)_

* * *

**Error of Soul**

* * *

"_Wait, you think that I...?! I seek _power, you ingrate! _That doesn't mean I don't like a good shag every now and then. Of _course_ I still '_have it'!_"  
_–Lord Voldemort

* * *

Hermione's eyes were still a bit bloodshot. She was having trouble sleeping but not nearly as much as she had that very first night. The trick was a matter of control. She wanted to sleep, and Harry's thoughts distracted her from that. The obvious solution was to tune out Harry's thoughts and with an effort she'd found herself capable of a doing so.

The bond was growing stronger. She was able to hear him from as far as the great Hall now. Weirdly, that was making some things easier. Before their bond had been an uncontrolled mess. Feelings with no context. But as the bond grew sharper, she began to distinguish which was which.

She could... _feel_ which emotions, which touches were actually on her skin and which ones were actually things touching Harry. That didn't make an itch Harry had any easier to scratch when she felt it on her bum though.

"_Harry! Scratch your bloody arse! Its itchy__!" _

"_In the middle of class!?" _he bit back, rather reasonably. Even so, he adjusted himself, sliding up and down the uncomfortable dungeon seat awkwardly.

Blessed relief filled Hermione, and she made note to force Harry to get some underclothes that were made of something other than wool.

That amused Harry and he couldn't stop the grin. That of course, was foolish.

"Mister Potter, are you finding something humorous about this class?" Severus Snape's drawl filled the room and filled Harry with agitation.

"No Sir," he replied.

"Then _why_ are you grinning like a moron, instead of seeing to your _test?_" The class, Slytherins mostly, giggled hysterically. Snape paid them no mind.

* * *

**Chapter Six  
Too Much Pumpkin Juice**

* * *

"S-Sorry, Sir," Harry stuttered out, embarrassed. He buried his face in his parchment and began to read the questions for _today's_ bloody pop quiz, inwardly cursing Snape's parents for unleashing him upon the world.

Hermione giggled mentally, but was smart enough to keep it to herself.

A pleasant buzz filled Harry's mind and he realized idly that it was Hermione's beehive-efficient mind routing out the answers for the test questions. He began to read.

"When creating a Permignion Draught, what must be added after the Centipede legs? How much? What effects occur when this step is ignored? Explain."

That bloody bastard. Of course he would pick a question from the section he'd assigned nearly a _month _ago. Damn, he was never going to pass this bloody class...

"_Oh that one's easy!" _Hermione thought pleasantly. _"You add water, of course. Two pints. If you forget to add the water the soluble won't begin to boil properly and the legs and fins won't dissolve. Instead the potion will turn into a corrosive acid that could eat through your cauldron if it isn't made of cuendillar or protected by enforcement spells." _

Harry's eyes widened.

Slowly, a devious smile began to form on his face.

As he wrote a reworded version of Hermione's answer he grinned to himself. Snape wouldn't know what hit him. Harry would ace his stupid class and wipe that damn smile off his face. He'd know every answer the man asked! All thanks to wonderful Hermione!

Of course, Hermione saw all of this as a wave of images of a shocked Snape, and tests with 100 percents written across the top. They came with a feeling of devious elation that she'd rarely felt from Harry.

She was horrified.

"_H-Harry how could you!? Stop that! That's _cheating!_" _

A wash of guilt flowed across the bond but was quickly quashed by indignation.

"_I can't_ stop_ Hermione! You think _everything! _Every test we have is going to be like this," _he replied.

"_That doesn't make it right!" _she thought back and chanced a moment to turn her eyes toward him. She gave him a glare as hard as stone. _"Dumbledore has asked me to tolerate this, Harry. I won't tolerate cheating. We could be bloody expelled!"_

Harry groaned dismally. They'd made it through nearly the whole week. Oh, Harry admitted he'd wanted to kill the girl a few times, but it had been alright. Hermione was one of his best friends. She'd jumped in the line of a killing curse for him. She'd stuck by his side even when Ron hadn't believed him last year in the tournament. She already knew most of his darkest secrets anyway.

The Soul Bond was just that, a permanent connection between their minds and hearts. It had no on off switch, only a faulty mute button that had been stuck down so you couldn't ever use it reliably. You had to mash at it in the hope for a few hours peace, and it usually ignored your attempts.

That was what it was like trying to block their thoughts off from one another. It worked. Sparingly. Rarely... not nearly enough to tune out the his best friend. And by Merlin's beard, the girl was annoying! Nattering on and on and on in an endless tirade of thoughts that never ceased. She thought of the weather. She thought of commanding the weather with a magical device and calling it a machine to end hunger in the dry places of the muggle world. She thought of what type of knickers Ron might find most attractive. She thought of which ones _Harry _might find most attractive, which he had unwillingly been forced to admit he was a black lace man.

She thought of S.P.E.W. and her god-given crusade to free the elves from their self imposed slavery. Good god, he'd nearly stupefied himself a few times to get out of hearing more of _that _crap.

But she was his Hermione. He loved her. No matter how annoying or silly she was, or how her thoughts slowly became a permanent buzz in the back of his mind, she was his friend. Nothing could ever break that...

...Which made the fact that his mind was consumed with images of strangling her rather unusual. _"Give me the answers woman!" _He sent jokingly. _"Besides... is it _really_ cheating?"_

"_Oh Harry, you're just as bad you know," _she said, sending the emotion that Harry tied strongly to the self satisfied smile she gave when one of her boys figured something out during homework. _"...Yammering on and on about Quidditch and Cho. Sometimes I see so many of your thoughts in my head I get confused on which picture is real: The one I'm seeing or the one you're imagining. Still, thanks, you big dolt. I love you too. And yes. Its still cheating." _

He sighed in mock exasperation.

"_Alright, I'll try to stop. But... are you sure I couldn't have just a few little answers?" _

Hermione's soft emotion hardened to steel.

"_Alright alright, I get it." _

Unfortunately for the two of them, _not_ _cheating_ was nearly as difficult as cheating was normally. The ability to blot out their thoughts came and went as it wished, not as either of them commanded, and it was perilously absent when they needed it most..

"What is a Zaod? Where can one be found? Explain the process of harvesting it."

Hermione _groaned_ at this question. It was gross answer and even writing it felt a little sickening to her. Unfortunately for Harry, she couldn't help but answer it. In her head.

A tiny little part of Harry yelped '_yes!' _in delight, but for the most part he could only guiltily write down a version of her words that would make sense under his untidy scrawl. A tiny little part of Hermione began to hate Harry's guts.

"_Harry. If you don't stop using me like this, I swear to god I'll think of nothing but S.P.E.W. for the rest of the day."_

Harry cringed. It had been a sore point for them all day when Hermione found out what Harry actually thought of Hermione's campaign. That being a waste of time. Was that rude or callous of him? Hermione apparently thought so.

"_I can't though Hermione! I'm really sorry...!" _And that was legitimate. He didn't want to be a cheater. Even more so he didn't want Hermione to _think_ of him as one.

Hermione didn't know whether to call him sweet for his concern for her thoughts, or scold him for his care over her opinion more than the actual act of cheating itself. So instead she left the issue alone entirely and cast it out of her mind. Harry only got a few vague wisps of confusion across the bond. And a little bit of flattered embarrassment as well.

The questions got worse as the test went on and Hermione explained each answer to Harry in unwillingly excruciating detail. Harry was surprised to find he'd already known the answers to several, but the frothing rage with which Hermione stormed out of the room at the end of the lesson made him wish he'd been able to just take the Dreadful he probably would've gotten without the bond.

It was impossible not to listen to her, and once he knew the right answer in all its perfection, how could he just write what he'd known would be wrong?

That didn't stop the lump of guilt from filling his throat as he stood to hand in a masterpiece of Potions knowledge to the professor.

For a moment he stood. Then he thought better of it.

He sat back down and began to feverishly erase his answers to a few of the questions. Irritating as quill ink was incredibly difficult to get rid of and It probably wouldn't help. He couldn't _un-know _the answers but he could at least drop a few down to what he figured he might've written before being force-fed the information.

It took another five or ten minutes to dumb his paper down to his usual level and Hermione's almost burning anger had cooled a little. Hidden though, underneath the anger coming from her, was a sharp undercurrent of hurt. He couldn't understand how he could tell which kind of hurt, but he knew Hermione felt deeply betrayed.

The distance between them grew greater and he had a feeling she'd gone up to the Astronomy Tower. From that height her thoughts were muffled and would be until he left the dungeons. But her emotions stung him. He wanted to do right by her. He didn't _want_ the answers!

So why did she feel so... used? He didn't know. The lump in his throat lingered for a long while after he turned in his paper and left.

* * *

Guilt.

Guilt.

Sorrow.

Apologetic Sorrow. Request for forgiveness.

Guilt. Guilt.

Hermione sighed. Harry hadn't wanted to prod her so he'd stayed in the lower levels of Hogwarts where it was difficult to hear each others' thoughts. Soon even this respite would be lost to them as the bond grew stronger and stronger.

She'd felt sick and used. Old friends had only wanted her near them to do their homework for them in her elementary school days. This took her right back to that time, but she had grown since then. Instead of tearing up like a whiney little girl, she teared up like a whiney little adolescent and drizzled the mixture with a dollop of anger.

She'd been sitting at the top of the Astronomy Tower for the better part of an hour crying into her book stack and feeling sorry for herself. Was Harry just using her? Had he always been? Did he even care about her or did he just want her around because she was smart?

But no. She was being stupid. She could _feel_ what Harry thought as plain as day! In fact, he felt so damn guilty about it that it was almost impossible to remain angry with him. He honestly knew how to treat a girl. And getting the answers from her wasn't really his fault.

… Maybe she liked Harry more than she'd ever thought? He was... so very kind.

"_Harry?" _She posed tentatively as she walked down the stairs. Potions had ended early today, as Snape never wanted to teach a lesson when he held his tests. Hermione had now had ample time to get her tears out and she was feeling ready to face the world without snapping at it once more.

"_Hermione! Look I changed my test to make it less... yours. I didn't want you to be–!"_

"_That's sweet Harry," _she interrupted lightly. _"But you didn't have to do that. It isn't your fault." _

"_But... but!" _

Indignation. Confusion. Mild depression. _"I wanted that O!" _

Hermione laughed. _"Alright. You _did_ have to do it... Harry. Thank you. I couldn't ask for a better friend." _

Harry blushed and his emotions crept through the bond. Hermione sighed again. Damn Harry and his whole 'noble' thing. She'd wanted a reason to be good and mad at him! Why, she couldn't say. This thought distracted her as she turned a corner near the entrance to the great hall a few moments later and bumped into a great whale of a woman, which sent her sprawling to the floor.

"Ow!" She hissed and glared only to find herself face to face with the sharp eyes and toad-like qualities of Professor Umbridge.

She schooled her features but inwardly her glare hardened. The woman had gained a bit of her respect during the last few days but the ridiculous gloves Harry was still wearing to hide the words permanently scarred into his hand were still fresh on her mind.

"Miss Granger. Kindly watch your step," the twit said before turning her nose back to whatever it was she'd been doing, and walking towards the wall.

Hermione growled as she stood up and picked up her scattered notes and a few quills that had fallen loose. Even so, her attention was focused entirely upon where Professor Umbridge had gone.

To her near shock, the tear-strewn form of Mr. Filch stood atop a tall ladder. Great big crocodile tears fell down his face as, one by one, he pulled down each and every Decree that Delores had posted over the past half a year.

"Honestly. Was I bloody mad?" Hermione caught the woman mumble to herself.

Today would be Umbridge's first class since she'd been hospitalized the previous Friday. What had changed since then? Why was she taking down so many of her silly decrees now? That locket?

Hermione didn't know.

* * *

Transfiguration was a blast. It usually was even though the Wicked Witch of the West Wing usually kept the class in a tightly controlled order. Transfiguration was just fun. But it was especially fun on the days when McGonagall allowed 'freestyle.'

They had learned double transfigurations over the course of the last two weeks and today Professor McGonagal was finally allowing them a chance to roam freely with all of their previous incantations and do what they would.

With a grin the woman had spilled a plethora of knick-knacks and old items from the mundane to the bizarre onto the floor. The desks had been pushed back to the walls.

Anticipation mounted.

"Begin!"

And the room became a festival of enjoyment. Harry merrily employed his idea of changing a selection of quills into pies. Then he changed the pies into birds with a much weaker transfiguration. The birds, quite naturally, flew up into the rafters before the weak transfiguration ruptured leaving them pies once more. Students and the teacher alike laughed as it rained pies that morphed from their splattered places on peoples faces, back into the feathers that they were.

Rings became Hula Hoops, became radios. Figurines morphed into snowballs and were hurled at one another, and the ambient magic that had split them morphed the snow back into figurines before their very eyes.

Ron did a particularly humorous transfiguration of a roll of paper by turning it into a cat. Hermione had been impressed by that as transfiguring a cat was relatively difficult.

He then transfigured a beaters club into a small stool and placed a ball of yarn on top. Repeatedly the cat jumped up to get the yard and repeatedly did the cat scramble as the stool turned back into a beater's club.

Needless to say, Transfiguration was, and had always been, a longtime favorite class at Hogwarts. Like all good things, it was over far too soon.

An hour after splatting Ron in the face with a pie made of feathers, Harry found himself walking slowly into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom to find a very different place.

Lower years had already had classes. Rumor was faster than Harry's Firebolt and they'd had classes with Umbridge already. Could they be believed? Could the woman actually have begun to teach?

Well, last Friday she had but that didn't really count. One day wasn't enough to blot out an entire semester of sitting there twiddling her thumbs while snidely staring down at her so-called "students." The woman was a horror, and even if she _did_ begin to teach Harry thought he would probably still hate her. He rubbed his hand idly through his ever present gloves. It had lost feeling on the back.

"_Your gloves and my scarf. What a pair we make, Harry." _

Harry grinned. What a pair indeed.

They entered the room slowly and found that, like Transfiguration before, the classroom's desks weren't in the usual positions. Unlike Transfiguration, these desks were simply gone.

They'd been early and now waited as the rest of the students filed in, standing awkwardly near the middle of the room. The cats, meowed in anticipation in their creepy frames. Harry decided the graveyard at the end of last year was more pleasant than this detestable room.

Umbridge sat upon her throne in the only remaining desk that was present. Student's eyes lingered heavily on her missing arm but she didn't seem to let in hinder her. Her wand was present and as the last student filed in she quickly flicked it at the door. Students jumped as it slammed shut hard.

"Now students," She began in her usual preparatory fashion. "Your wands will be out in this classroom from now on. You will no longer bring your books to class. They will be more of a hindrance anyway. Who among you would you say is the worst caster?"

Awkward mumbling. No one wanted to admit to something like–!

"That'd... uhm... probably be me, Professor." Neville raised his hand. Several Slythern's chuckled while several Gryffindor's squawked in disapproval. Hermione quietly steamed but was too far from Neville to voice her dissatisfaction with his answer.

"Yes, yes you'll do just fine Longbottom. And the best? The best caster!"

"I–" Draco attempted. He didn't even manage to get out another word.

"Harry." Hermione said, along with half the class. Notably even a few Slytherin's had piped up in Harry's favor. No one had heard Harry speak with Hermione's name, but Hermione herself, through the bond. She felt flattered.

Ron had said nothing, glancing between his two friends as if saying either name would be a betrayal to the other. Hermione was amused, and Harry had to agree.

"Of course it is. Well here." The woman said, lifting a hat with a levitation spell and sending it floating around the room. Inside it were man slips of paper. "Each of you take a slip. No no, not you Longbottom or Harry. You two come to the middle of the class. Everyone else on the walls please. Hurry now, pip pip."

They did as told, confused and unsure. Hermione had an eyebrow raised in curiosity and Harry tried hard to tune her out.

"Now," said Umbridge. "Neville I would like you– No Malfoy, I didn't say you could open the paper yet. Grab another. You too Seamus. Neville. I want you to cast at Harry. Harry, with your permission, I'd like you to only block. Use _Protego_ spells only, continuing with our lesson from last Friday. Neville you have permission to use and charms or hexes but no curses. Are we clear?

Neville, quite nervously, nodded. Harry, confident in his abilities, did the same.

It began easily. Neville, despite how much Harry liked the boy, was not a dueler. His spells were slow and Harry found himself lazily blocking them, sending them up into the room's ceiling to dissipate against Hogwart's mighty and indifferent walls.

"_Impedimenta. Ruxdavois. Deltiaga. Abiurspectus!"_

Neville had a rather impressive chain but frankly he was so bloody unconfident that it hindered his every move. Each spell was cast tentatively. He was on display for everyone to see and he was failing. With each spell Harry blocked, Neville grew worse and worse. The hopelessness of him ever getting through Harry's iron clad defense making him even less effective.

Harry, naturally, grew slightly annoyed at this. He'd been trying for _months_ to get the other Gryffidor to show some damn balls and dammit he'd done so! In the DA. Among friends. Here was a different story. Here was... pathetic.

"You're better than this, Neville!" he barked after Neville cast a _Stupify _that had lacked the ability to even _reach_ him.

The effect his words would've had wasn't to be known as suddenly one of the students around the room fired a jelly legs jinx at him. He blocked it, surprised. Barely. Turning he glared at the culprit only to find himself glaring at Parvarti Patil's raised wand. Why had she...?

Neville sent another volley but Harry was on edge now and he blocked the new series of spells with a worried vigor. What the hell was–?

He turned, instinct and the distinct rush of power that one could distantly feel, along with Malfoy's sonorous '_Stupefy_' only barely saved him as he turned fully to block Malfoy's oncoming attack. He sent the other boy a smirk.

He slumped into unconsciousness as a _Stupify_ slammed into his back, courtesy of Neville from the other side. Well. He'd grown some balls after all.

Nearby, Hermione's eyes sunk. For half a moment she fought the onslaught of unconsciousness as she felt Harry assaulted with the Stupify. Something was there. Something strong! If only she could... reach out. And...

But no.

Darkness took her.

* * *

"_Enervate."_

Harry heard the word and was slammed into the waking world with all the force of a hammer. _Enervate_ was an interesting spell. You could cast it softly and make it a warm breeze that coaxed the person back awake...

...Or you could make it a bucket of ice water. This was the latter.

"As you can see class, the point of this lesson is relatively simple. Defense Against the Dark Arts. Tell me, mister Weasley, who is more likely to win if Neville and Harry fight?

Harry _glared_ at her.

"Uhh... I... Harry. Ma'am," Ron said dutifully. "No offense, Nev,"

The boy laughed a little and waved Ron away.

"And if Harry faces, say, Neville and Parvati?" She turned her view away at this point addressing the rest of the class, but before anyone could answer she continued. "And if he faces Neville, Parvarti, and young Draco? The answer is obvious. The lesson today, is that _eyes_ are stronger than _wands. _The more of them you have, the more effective you will be against any enemies you might face. This class is about defense. And the greatest defense is most often found in numbers."

Hermione Granger shook herself from the corner of the room. Her head ached and she had to hold back a groan as consciousness returned to her as well. Slower than it had for Harry, but she could feel the effects of an _Enervate_ washing over her. Luckily she'd been leaning against the wall and it seemed no one had noticed her brief lapse into unconsciousness.

"There are exceptions to every rule of course. Some wizards..." She stopped for a moment and a shudder ran through her before she continued. "...Some wizards are so powerful that no amount of numbers can ever be enough. But the most likely enemies that any of _you_ will face, can be overpowered easily if they are overwhelmed with wands sending spells at them."

"_Practical." _thought Hermione as she finally managed to return to her full senses. At least she hoped so. Getting hit with a stupefy _really_ sucked.

The class continued on a relatively upbeat note. Umbridge had three students in the center each watching each others backs as she signaled students to open fire. As it turned out that had been all the original paper had been for. She had opened the folded strips for Parvarti and Malfoy at her own whim. All of the pieces said the same thing though.

Attack.

What it ended up being was a rather humorous game that reminded Hermione of Duck Duck Goose. Harry, having never before heard of this, questioned her on it and that of course led to more of their unending conversation.

Class went on and the two of them conversed over a hundred mindless things. Duck Duck Goose led to Hopscotch, which Harry had at least heard of, and seen children play at his own muggle school. They grinned. Exchanged smiles and laughter that no one else was privy to.

Not ten minutes later, they were glaring daggers at one another.

Again.

* * *

"Dammit Hermione, I can't even hold you? Is that so bad?" Ron asked, peevishly. His ears were cold from quidditch practice but his face was red. Not anger but sheer frustration was so easy to read that Hermione needed no soul bond.

He shoveled a bit of Minced Pork Pie into his mouth and then leaned back on the couch of Gryffindor's common room to stretch. It wasn't unusual for quidditch players to grab a quick lunch before bed and carry it up to the dormitory.

Harry was up in his room, but Hermione could hear him. Always.

_"I'd really rather you not hold me, Ron. Not that sort of bloke." _he chipped in, having heard Ron's conversation through Hermione's mind.

Hermione sighed regretfully. "Ron I... It makes him uncomfortable. I can't say it wouldn't be the same for me if Harry were trying to cozy up to a girl."

Her eyes suddenly went sharp. _"Which his _is."

"_Its not my fault. She's... really beautiful." _

Wistful feelings of longing, Harry's longing for Cho, reached out to Hermione and intermingled with her own. A whole wall of _'WANT' _crept up her spine and made her heart beat fast as she stared at the redhead next to her. Her mind conjured an image of her throwing herself on top of him and kissing the bit of chocolate off his cheek.

"_Ew..." _said Harry ruining it. _"I like it more when you think in words. Please don't do that..."_

She sighed again. Hermione felt not a little bit of resentment towards Harry for this bond that had formed between them. It was an empty anger though. He had no more to do with it than she did, but he was... He was in the way.

Of course she couldn't hide that emotion from Harry, and the guilt feeding back over didn't help anything.

Ron reached over and grasped her in a fierce hug, quite surprising her out of her reverie. "I love you. Harry's... well I love him too. He's a brother, same as the rest," he let out a sigh of his own. "God dammit though..."

Hermione fidgeted. Her heart bubbled in the way of young women in young love. Harry himself felt a little bit touched. And... just a hair uncomfortable. Inwardly, Hermione felt him trying to mute the feelings between them and failing horribly to do so. Both to give them privacy, and to hide his own embarrassment. That made her smile. Harry could be so sweet sometimes.

And such a bear the rest of the time.

"_Tell him I say he's alright too." _Harry sent awkwardly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He says he loves you too Ron."

"_HEY! Thats not what I...!"_

"Er... he heard that?"

Yet a third time Hermione sighed. "Everything I think, he hears. He gets the full conversation, though its a little strange."

Harry grumbled hatefully at Hermione and not a little bit at Ron. Why wasn't the boy being a bloody jealous git like he had been last year? That would've been easier to handle. But now Harry just felt guilty for getting in between what probably would've been a beautiful romance, tinged with thousands of arguments that he wanted no part of.

Maybe Ron just wanted in Hermione's pants. Yeah. That was probably why he was being so mushy. If Ron was a cad, then Harry didn't have to feel guilty about it. Yeah...

"_Harry, how could you think that of your best friend!" _

And of course, now Harry felt doubly guilty.

"_Well if it were true then I could hate him in peace!" _

"_You–!"_

"_Kiss him. Go on, I'll handle it... Just. Don't make a habit of it okay?" _Harry thought toward the girl.

Her eyes widened for just a moment. Pure gratitude washed through the bond in an intense _wave. _She didn't hesitate. If she did he might change his mind. She barreled onto Ron knocking him back onto the couch and locked lips with him in a rather charming embrace. Dean and Seamus traded knowing grins. Whispers hidden behind soft hands exchanged around the room. Fred barked harshly at Lee Jordan to _'_Pay up!' but Hermione didn't care.

The kiss it was magic...

Or...

Well...

No... No.. well. It was actually sort of like kissing a damp pillow. Ron was utterly shocked, but that lasted for only a moment before he let his arms settle around her again. The kiss deepened. And Hermione felt... honestly she felt just a little grossed out. That wasn't right! How... why...?

She pulled away slowly. Where was the magic that had been there that first time? Where was the rush? The passion? The heady feeling of love that she had felt so strongly when Ron had first asked to be her boyfriend? It definitely wasn't present now.

The taste of mint filled her mouth. Harry was brushing his teeth.

"_I'm sleeping on my stomach tonight for this." _Harry demanded.

"_But that hurts my boobs!" _the girl hissed back.

"_Don't care."_

Hermione bristled, embarrassed by the cat calls and hoots of the various Gryffindor's who'd been present for the whole fiasco. Ron's goofy grin and the fact that she felt so little from the kiss did nothing to help her.

It was not a pleasant night.

* * *

The night passed and finally Saturday, wonderful Saturday arrived. They'd been feeling grouchy but neither could really remember what it had been that had started their last argument. They kept recovering and kept getting into petty little fights that didn't really matter. Hopefully that was enough... but it was becoming easier and easier to find themselves resenting one another.

Both of them hated it.

It was time they took Dumbledore up on his suggestion. But, since it was the _twins_ they were dealing with they might as well have a little fun.

Hermione grinned and gave Harry a slight nod.

Harry returned the grin as their thoughts ran in tandem. They'd deliberated in silence for the past several minutes on how to do this and had decided that taking a page from their targets' own book was a relatively good idea.

"_Okay, I'm going to start it," _Hermione voiced as they moved up to one of the private rooms on the fourth floor of Hogwarts. It wasn't really a _prank_ per say. But both of them truly hoped that their targets would be shocked out of their wits.

"_Gotcha," _Harry replied, his thoughts forming a picture of a thumbs up.

Hermione gave a slow breath and slowly raised a hand to the hard wooden door.

A clanking noise was echoing from behind the wood, but that was relatively common. Everyone knew the Weasley twins were always busy in there building their pranking concoctions. Explosions, usually mild, were known to frequent the fourth floor hallway in the northern wing. Fortunately the two didn't seem to be in the middle of anything too destructive at the moment.

She rapped hard four times.

"A customer Fred! Get the door!"

"Was about to ask you to do that!" Fred replied loudly enough to be heard out in the hallway. _"Wait... EUREKA!"_

_BOOOM!_

The door shook on its frame and Hermione lost her balance at the explosion that wracked the entire castle. Harry, surer of feet, felt her distortion and instantly caught her before she fell on her ass.

Silence seemed to flow over them and an eerie black smoke seeped from under the doorway.

"That... can't have been good," Harry murmured, his hands wrapped tightly around Hermione's waist.

"_Thanks for catching me, Harry." _

In Harry's way of sending thoughts as pictures, Hermione formed one of her own and sent back to him. The boy blushed as he was greeted with the image of Hermione kissing his forehead.

"No problem!" He squeaked in the way of adolescent boys.

She giggled.

The door opened upon Harry and Hermione, both of their eyes going wide.

A rather... disheveled Fred-or-George Weasley stood there, his red hair nearly charred black with soot and a sort of silvery slime. "Hello Potter! Granger! Getting cozy outside our door, are we?"

It took half a tick for the comment to register. Then the two sprang apart like a bolt leaving a crossbow, their faces flushed red.

'_Dammit, now its ruined!' _

'_We can salvage it! We'll just have to improvise.' _

A plan of action came outlined with Harry's thought and Hermione grinned. Yes that would do! It wasn't exactly the speech she had prepared but...

"Fred!" Harry began.

"Or George," Hermione added, and after that it was almost as easy as breathing.

"It has come to our attention,"

"That you and us might,"

"Have something unusual in common."

"You see, we were hoping that you,"

"Might enlighten us on,"

"Your soul bond,"

"So we don't go all crazy like,"

"Ron seems to think we will."

Their words strung together in such a horrifyingly perfect imitation of the Weasley's speech that Fred's (or George's) eyes were wide with utter shock by the time they had finished.

The Weasley was silent for a long moment as he stared at the two.

"Fred... Freeeeedddd!?" He nearly panicked. It was George apparently.

"What George!? I swear I had it before that explosion got in the way... What! What's all the fuss?" hissed the other twin. Smoke cleared out to reveal the second twin laying on the floor, buried under a mountain of cauldrons and scattered stirring utensils, while also being covered in clearly comical black soot. Otherwise he seemed fine.

"I... think you might want to get over here..."

"_This seems to be going well. He looks bloody horrified!" _thought Harry.

"_I don't think that's the look of someone who's been given a good prank Harry. Dammit is this Soul Bond thing really so bad? I mean... yeah. We've fought a little..."_

Harry gave her a blank stare.

"_...Okay. Alot. But I just can't imagine coming to hate you. We're too close for that, aren't we?"_

Harry thought long and hard on those words. Both of them kept telling themselves that sort of thing. Hermione and I are the best of friends. We'll never break. I could never abandon her. He means the world to me!

But when it came down to it, their fights were getting more and more common, even if they were endless squabbles in their heads.

He was just so _tired _of her. Every now and then he just wanted a break. He loved his friends but could he really spend every waking minute with them? Non stop? Sometimes he just wanted a little alone time. Sure he loved Pumpkin Juice. Did that mean he wanted it every day? Breakfast lunch and dinner? Forever? Of course not!

"_Now I'm pumpkin juice, am I?" _Hermione pouted.

"_You made the same damn analogy comparing me to a transfiguration text yesterday!" _

She blushed. "Touche, Harry," She said aloud. Her feelings were muted but she sent mixed emotions of hurt and mild approval. She felt the same way but it hurt for her to do so. She just wanted to relax and do a comparative study or two without Harry nattering her to stop reading so much!

"_You never do anything _but_ study!" _Harry commented sadly, inadvertently trying to superimpose his world view on her. _"There are better things sometimes Hermione! You just have to get out and _see _them!" _

She growled a little.

"Oh dear... I don't think they were lying at all." George said lowly as the other twin made his way across the room. "Did you see there? They just had a whole conversation... Fred... they're just like us."

A short while later the four of them sat in a few small wooden chair curled around the single remaining undestroyed table in the room. Charr decked the walls along with splotches and stains of every color. Most of these were old and showed obvious signs of being meticulously cleaned. However, stains such as these soaked straight into Hogwarts walls, mixing magics to form a kind of beautiful catastrophe. Harry had no doubt that the Weasleys hadn't been the first to use it and they wouldn't be the last. It was a prankster's paradise.

"So... you two have a soul bond. Tough luck there. Couple of sixth years had one back in our first year. Was horrible. They'd been great friends up till that point but just... fell out after that. Had a couple of nasty arguments in the great hall. Actually got rather...unpleasant."

"That's what we're worried about," Hermione said softly. "We... both of us feel like we have a perfect friendship. We've..." She blushed a little. "...learned a bit more about each other. Some more than we'd care to know. But we're... afraid."

One of the twins nodded. "Not good. All those other couples who developed the bond were close too. Thats kind of how it starts. How'd you figure out that we had one though?"

"Dumbledore."

"THAT's why we can't ever get him! He knows our tricks!" the other twin burst out irritably.

Harry shrugged giving them both a grin. "I don't know. Dumbledore's right clever. He might just be out of your league. Him knowing you two share thoughts doesn't really change much."

George, or the twin Harry _thought_ was George sighed. "The soul bond isn't just sharing thoughts Harry. Its _more_ than that."

"So much more..." Fred intoned. Whether in genuine awe, or just for dramatic effect, neither of them could tell.

An odd moment of silence fell but Harry broke it before it became awkward. "So... how did you two develop a bond? Any more surprises that we should expect?" He asked succinctly.

George gave a long sigh. "I... well ours was pretty much from the womb. We were so similar growing up that our bond developed right fast. Dad thinks it happened at seven. Mum thinks it started at four, and we tend to believe our Mum.

Hermione furrowed her brow. "That's... probably not going to be very helpful. You're experience must've been entirely different from ours. At four you wouldn't even understand. You'd just think any thought that came to your mind was yours."

"Exactly!"

"That's our Hermione,"

"Right genius that one; I always said so."

"Quite, Fred. Quite."

Hermione blushed but her mind didn't let them banter away her question. "But what does that _mean? _I'll start thinking Harry's thoughts?"

Fred made a great show of pausing for dramatic effect. The two were fond of showmanship, that much was certain. Harry was a little annoyed actually. He sensed a bit of Dumbledore-esque mysticism in their actions. How bad would it be for something to just be plain and simple for once?

"What people don't understand," Fred said slowly. "Is that there is more to it than just hearing thoughts. There's more than that. You... you start to... blend." He tried to find the right word but seemed to be failing.

"Harry, In a few weeks I wouldn't be at all surprised to see you happily spending time in the library." George commented.

Right on his brother's heels Fred followed. "And Hermione, I'm going to be laying a bet on you saving a damsel in distress before the end of term as soon as we're done with this conversation. Or at least enjoying broom-riding."

"Its a _soul bond. _Not a get together or a one time shag and then bail out. Your magic _wants_ each other. Craves it..." He paused realizing he'd just slightly alluded to an attraction between himself and Fred and turned to his brother with a grin. "Pardon me Fred. You're magic _does_ taste exquisite today."

"I know, dear brother!" Fred chimed in.

Hermione and Harry blanched.

"I... I'm worried we're making it sound too metaphysical but there really isn't any other way to explain it. Your magic is the first thing to be affected. Then things more physical start mixing. Your food tastes. Your sense of smell. Your... personality..."

Hermione shivered and chanced a glance over at Harry. _"I'm going to lose... me? I... Harry I love you but I don't want to _be _you!" _

"Likewise!" Harry barked aloud at her.

"That is the little secret people don't want to talk about. The soul bond usually causes a lot of anger between the two. Most people think that's why they split friendships. At first its the lack of privacy. Then... then it becomes a feeling like you're losing yourself. Most people can't handle that."

"But how do you know all that! You've just said you went through all this when you were only four years old!"

The two of them blushed. "Ah... you see thats a bit of a private problem..."

Harry felt Hermione's _need_ to know burn across the bond. Sudden horror took him as he realized that _he_ wanted to know almost as badly. It didn't feel strange. It felt _normal;_ this intense need that only a few days ago he'd been so... scandalized by. When had _that_ happened? Was it a mixing of emotions? Was his personality already being affected by Hermione's?

_"Calm down Harry," _he told himself. _"You'd want to know this sort of thing anyway." _He told himself that, and Hermione gave him an apologetic look. She understood. She didn't know how, but she understood. His thoughts, those he didn't actively voice, were becoming easier for her to understand.

"We've... we've read a _lot_ on Soul Bonds. All of them are different. No soul bond is the same but they all have similar... properties..." George admitted with a hint of embarrassment.

"We'd always been happy together, and we knew we always would be. But more recently there've been some... problems..." Fred joined in, happily taking up the conversation. Before learning about the Soul Bond their doublespeak had always been cute and endearing.

Now it had a more horrifying edge to it.

"Angelina and Katie..."

George spoke hesitantly. The weirdest part was that Hermione didn't think she'd ever seen either Weasley twin with even a _hint_ of embarrassment. "We... Honestly... I'm calling him Fred and saying I'm George for this conversation but... the truth is..."

"We... don't actually know which of us is really which."

Harry's eyes widened. Hermione's jaw dropped. "Wait so..."

"Imagine you wake up in the morning!" Fred interrupted harshly. "You remember perfectly well that you and a lovely young woman who shall remain nameless had a wonderful snog the last evening in a secret passageway that only you and your esteemed soulbonded brother know about."

George... or at least the one who was calling himself George jumped in. "But then you perfectly remember having a wonderful time flying with an entirely different lady... on a romantic moonlit autumn night. At the same bloody time."

"Meanwhile you're brother remembers both events just as well as you do."

"Worse, when even the simple things start to mix."

"Did I put on a red shirt this morning? I remember putting on a red one. And a green one."

"The me with the green shirt was the one who dated Katie. But... was it _me_ who put on the green shirt or was it...?"

The two gave a helpless, and very defeated sigh. Hermione was speechless. All this time, and the twins had always put on such a wonderful show. All this time and they'd... God it must tear them to pieces. How could they even know if they'd been faithful to the girl they liked?

"Of course we'd never cared about that. The Soul Bond is a little deeper than memories... a little darker too. But when we started dating and realized that we weren't sure which of us had been with which witch..."

"Clever George! Which witch!" Fred interrupted.

"Of course Fred!" George said giving a mock bow. "Anyway... we started reading on successful soulbonds..."

Hermione pulled into herself to examine the situation with a sharp sense of pity. They'd.. have to hope to find a pair of girls that were very... open. Hermione gave a soft blush at the thought, imagining coming home to a husband after a day of work and going to kiss him, never knowing whether he or his brother had been the one she'd kissed yesterday. Worse, still to be the husband. Neither would ever know which witch was with which.

Oh that was a tongue twister.

Harry grinned at her random thought. It lightened his mood but Fred's dour expression quashed that small laughter immediately.

"It... starts to get all tangled." One of them finished with a defeated sort of sigh.

Suddenly the two blinked as if having a worried thought, and then eyed the pair of fifth years suspiciously.

"We're telling you this in confidence but if we have to swear you two to secrecy,"

"We'll do it. We know the spell for unbreakable vows."

"We won't tell anyone." Harry and Hermione responded in harmony. They'd been literally floored by this revelation, utterly enraptured by the two and their horrifying tale. If they couldn't tell which one was which then...?

"Wait, why don't you just... I don't know. Change your haircut? That'll be enough of a difference that you could always tell which person did which! Or... maybe let one of you put on a few kilos? Grow a beard?" Harry asked. Hermione blinked. She hadn't actually thought of that.

Honestly this conversation was proving to be a relaxing stretch from sharing so many thoughts, despite the worries they'd gained. The twins were fast and heavy speakers, and kept both of their attention locked upon them so their thoughts didn't stray much. Harry felt a headache he hadn't known he'd had begin to ease.

"Like I said, she really is smart, Hermione."

"Gonna have to start thinking of Harry as such too though, aren't we? After all, if they do stick together then he'll know everything she knows soon enough."

"Bet he gets all 'older sisterly' on us too and starts telling us to be responsible adults."

They ignored Harry's indignant, "Hey!"

"Unfortunately though, Mister Potter,"

"The Soul Bond isn't fond of,"

"Things like that."

"Cut your hair different, and you'll wake up the next morning with your usual cut. Or your bonded will wake up with yours. Clever prank honestly if we could tell which of us had played it on which after the fact."

"Though there've been soul bonds in the past where that didn't happen. We think there's a big difference based on the gender of the two involved."

"Suffice to say though that physical changes just... don't seem to work for us. We've... we've even thought about, uhm... permanent disfiguration.

"Cutting off an ear or something."

"But... neither of us really wants to go that far."

"I see..." Harry intoned glumly. This conversation had done little to ease his mind about the bond. In fact it had upset him immensely. No wonder all those pairs had broken. To lose your... _self._ To become so completely immersed with the other person that there could come a time when you woke up and thought you _were_ the other one...

"Is... is that going to happen to us?" He put forth tentatively.

The two twins perked up at this. Their change of emotion, so perfectly mirrored by the other, was startling and comical all the same when viewed under this new light. Both of them literally felt exactly the same. The same humor. The same laughter. They shared _everything._

"Well I imagine you've got a bit of an advantage there."

"One of you've got bits and the other has bongos if you catch my meaning."

"But don't feel too bad if you wake up one morning thinking you need to pee sitting down and forget you're the one with the dangly parts." Fred said with a laugh towards Harry.

Harry turned green. That... wouldn't actually... happen would it?

Hermione and Harry shared an uneasy glance. Sharing not only thoughts but soon _memories_ too...

"_Will she find out about the closet? The Dursleys? Oh god I hope she doesn't feel it when my scar... or will she live through my shitty homelife?" _

Worry. Fear. Regret. Embarrassment. Worry.

"_...Will I see her parents as my own...?"_

Hope...

Hermione fully glanced at him. She was curious. What was he so worried about her discovering? Shitty homelife? She knew he had it bad with the Dursleys but that sounded like it had a special distinction.

And... that last thought... what did that mean?

"Honestly, that's not even the worst part. After you've truly started to share memories... then. Well. Then the bond starts to become _actually_ dangerous..."

"We're underselling it, Fred." George said with a grim face as he realized the horror slowly spreading onto Harry and Hermione's faces.

"You're right brother. They look greener than Umbridge."

"We're trying to highlight the bad parts so you'll know what to expect but..."

"There's so many _good_ things about it!"

"Imagine being able to be in two places at once. Not only will you," George said with a wild point towards Hermione, "Start to remember with clarity just how it felt to fly like Harry does,"

At that moment, Fred sent his own finger towards Harry. "You will also start to remember the hours Hermione spent studying. More importantly, you'll start to _understand _things in the same way she does!"

"Best of all... there is _magic_ in a soul bond. Special magic that no one else can know."

Harry and Hermione shared a knowing glance. Neither had understood how Hermione's skin had stopped the killing curse last Friday. Nor did they know how Harry had been able to throw the curse back. All they could write it up to was some vague and unbelievable substance called 'Soul Magic' that was only theory in the first place."

Could it be that the _twins... _Fred and George Weasley, held the secret to countering the killing curse that the world had been seeking for so long?

Well. There wasn't a very good way to test it now, was there?

"How... how can we learn it?" Hermione asked. Harry could barely contain his own anxiousness. A power that might be able to stop the killing curse? Oh what he wouldn't give...

"You can't." The twins replied in unison.

"It doesn't work that way."

"You can't practice."

"You can't train."

"Well... you can."

"But you have to be bonded closer than you are."

One of the twins stood up and began to circle around them. Then, to the two fifth years' shock, he held out a palm. An orb of green light sprung into life, lighting up the room with a hazy glow.

"_Manald Heal..." _he intoned in a voice of power that echoed. Harry was reminded vividly of Trelawny's prophecy in third year and he shuddered.

"Fred?"

"Ahh... Yes I see." Fred replied to his brother's question, his normal voice returned. The green light faded into nothingness and he lowered his palm. "Yes. Not nearly ready. Not nearly. Its getting a bit late. You two have learned all you need to from us anyway."

Hermione fumed. Every question led to more questions! "_What!?_"

"You can't possibly end it there! We need to know more!"

"No. You don't. Hermione, sometimes there are things better left unknown. For this one, please... you have to wait. Its obvious you two don't plan to break the bond by leaving so you'll have to deal with what comes sooner or later. For now its better if you just focus on not hating each others guts..."

"NO!" Hermione hissed angrily. "I'm tired of being treated like a little child! If there are even _more_ secrets to this bloody bond I want to know! I NEED to know and you're going to tell me!"

Privately, Harry agreed with Hermione.

But the look on Fred's face as Hermione focused her glare on him made him reconsider...

Slowly. Hermione's glare trailed away...

The room darkened and Fred's eyes took on a sort of manic gleam. Anger filled them in a way Harry had never before seen. Hermione suddenly cowered as Fred loomed over them, his shadow seeming to grow taller and the room's light, dimmer.

"_What you _need is _to not meddle with things you aren't ready for! If you dive too deep too quickly you could lose yourselves entirely!"_

The darkness faded, and Harry let loose a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"Whoa! Easy Fred easy!" George consoled the other boy from across the room. "They're new... its okay. We won't let that happen to them. We know about it, now. They'll be safe enough from that. As long as they don't start _trying_ to grow closer," He finished his words with a pointed look at the two of them.

Fred glared at his brother. "Didn't you see Harry? _His eyes!? _He's a bloody hero! A magic that could help him take down You-Know-Who? Of _course _he bloody will!"

"That doesn't matter George! We'll be here to stop them if they take it too far! Calm down! Can't you see you're scaring them?" George barked at his brother.

Startled, Fred turned to look at Harry and Hermione, both of whom had unconsciously scooted closer together.

The darkness faded completely. The lights from the torches on the walls grew bright again.

"Er... sorry. I don't get frustrated very often. I am the more hotheaded of the pair of us... At least I think I am. I'll remember telling my brother to calm down and stop yelling at the two of you just as well as I remember doing the yelling in an hour you see."

Hermione gulped. "Y-Yes..."

"Hermione... I'm sorry. I promise, "I promise!" I will tell you what to expect the _moment_ you're both ready for it. But... for now you need to just get closer. Slowly. And try not to kill each other. After that comes the _deep magics_."

"All... alright. Fred. George..."

Hermione stood. Shakily. Harry put a hand on her back to support her and she mentally thanked him. Without another word, they left, feeling utterly bewildered and even more confused and anxious then when they'd walked in.

* * *

"Ah. Minister Fudge! How are you fairing this evening?" The dissenter said, his silver tongue coating the air with friendship and warm gestures. "Bad business with that last press article. I wonder who wrote it? Seems a bit over-dramatic to me."

The Minister raised an eyebrow. "Indeed..."

Fudge was worried. He was not as clever as this man, and he knew it. He treaded thin ice but he needed to be there. If Fudge was in the room, Malfoy wouldn't suspect. The man hadn't noticed the Anti-Apparition ward going up around his office. Or if he had, he was a supremely good actor.

Which he was, if the past was any indication.

'_I must not give anything away,' _Fudge thought strongly. His occlumency was abysmal but he was avoiding Lucius's eyes, and he _did _know enough to keep his thoughts from simply floating around the room like a child.

Any politician worth his salt knew that.

"I actually thought the article was monstrous. I put in a petition at the Daily Prophet to have the bawlsy bastard responsible for such rubbish sacked!" Fudge barked, his eyes betraying anger. It was an honest sort of anger. He wanted no part of that article to reach the ears of the public. He wanted them safe. He wanted them secure in the knowledge that their homes were protected by the ministry and its minister.

But they were not...

And this man, this devil whose coin found itself in the pockets of his entire administration... he had to be abolished.

Lucius gave a sly grin. Very small. Very subtle. Fudge never would've noticed it if he wasn't looking for it. The man was pleased.

Yes... More and more Fudge saw the connections. Malfoy was at the heart. He was the key, the crux, the cornerstone to the Ministry's near destruction last time. His money, his fame, and his way with words had swayed half the ministry to the hand of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And it was happening all over again.

Behind his back he held up a his hand and clenched it into a fist. That was the signal.

He couldn't hear it. His auror's were too swift and skilled for his old eyes and ears but he knew they were there. Silently hiding behind the walls and peepholes drilled for the very purpose of spying on this _bastard. _This man Fudge had once trusted.

"Ah Minister Fudge. Perhaps that's going a bit far?" Lucius's words didn't match his tone. Pleased humor flowed through his voice. He had not caught on. He was clueless. He believed Fudge was actually _angry_ about the paper.

"Perhaps. But I do not think this is." Fudge said. He narrowed his eyes at the head of the house of Malfoy.

Lucius had but a half a moment.

It was not enough.

Red beams spewed from ten hidden wands curling around Fudge and illuminating him as if he were a bomb. The last thing Lucius heard as Fudge's body became a dark blurred outline was the old Minister's words. "I thought I could trust you... I thought you were my friend."

It was done.

Lucius was his prisoner. And he was going to Azkaban. Fudge would take him there personally. And then he would talk to the dementors and make sure they knew whose souls would be ripest for the taking _this time. _

Death Eater souls.

Fire burned in the minister's eyes.

* * *

Hermione was, bluntly put, shaken. Hours had passed since their unusual meeting with the twins, and Hermione couldn't help but see the two in an entirely new light. She would pity them if she weren't still a little bit frightened of the both of them. Fred's voice had been so... dark.

She walked slowly back from the Great Hall. Harry had gone on ahead. His voice whispered his current conversation with Ron in her mind, but she didn't really care about their current topic much.

"_I'm not just going to _ask_ her Ron! It doesn't work like that!" _

Hermione grinned as the picture of Ron's shrug came back. She couldn't hear it directly but she could almost feel him nonchalantly saying "Worked for me."

Ron was such a dope sometimes.

They were talking, of course, about Harry and Cho Chang.

In her opinion, Harry was much too good for her. Sure she was easy on the eyes, she supposed. A boy would probably find her attractive. But Harry could do with a girl who had a _liiittle_ bit more going on upstairs. Cho... well she was a Ravenclaw but Hermione didn't get _'smart_' when she looked at the girl. In fact, smart was one of the last things that popped up, miles behind athletic, social, and a bit ditzy.

She grit her teeth a little. In her mind she saw Cho laughing alongside her friends at the last DA meeting and felt a wave of anger. It wasn't very often but just occasionally, Cho Chang reminded her of Gregory Goyle. She _hated_ stupidity.

_"Hey! She's not stupid!" _Harry barked at her defending the girl he barely knew.

Hermione, to her credit, didn't snap back. Her neck twinged beneath her scar suddenly and she ignored it.

"_I know Harry... I wasn't. Well I _was_ thinking about her but not like you thought I... Ooooh! This is so frustrating! Why don't you understand what I mean?" _

"Craven's Bane!" She yelled the password at the fat-lady and ignored the portrait's indignant 'hmph' as she slid through the portrait into Gryffindor's common room, her eyes locked on Harry's before the door even opened.

He too, stood glaring at her.

"Oh hey Hermione! Don't you think that Harry... uhm... should...?" Ron trailed off as he realized that Hermione's eyes were focused sharply on Harry's.

"_I understand perfectly! You think anyone who isn't as smart as you is worthless!"_

Hermione strode up to him. The room's eyes watched as she glared harder at the raven-haired boy without saying anything. Aloud anyway. Inwardly she couldn't be more affronted. He knew her better than that! How could he...?

Her neck seemed to ache suddenly like an overworked muscle. Pain slid up the side of her face but the anger at Harry's outburst shoved the sudden pain to the back of her mind.

"_That is just not true! Of course I don't! I just think that Cho is... a little... a little..."_

"Hermione...?"

Whispers began to echo around the common room. Everyone was always interested in the Golden Trio of Hogwarts, or at least the fame of Harry Potter. Watching Hermione and Harry glare at one another so furiously. It was... strange. Foreign. Like watching a Malfoy help a muggle.

"Hermio–!"

"_WHAT RON!?" _Hermione screamed, turning to glare at Ron. She was angry at herself. Angry at the fact that Ron's kiss hadn't sparked her passion. Angry that Fred had scared her earlier and at what the Soul Bond might mean for her future. Anger. Anger that she hadn't even known she'd been holding all boiling to a somehow palpable thread.

She didn't actually say anything.

"Are... you alright Hermione?" Ron asked, gingerly.

Her face was red. Her eyes were blazing. She hadn't even realized she'd only yelled at Ron in her mind.

Harry... his hand trailed up to his scar and he groaned a little.

Hermione's mind was faster than ever. She had only a moment to realize what was happening. Voldemort. _His anger! _His anger was bleeding into Harry like always but... now...

Pain _exploded _into her. Her scream pierced the halls of Hogwarts like the wail of a banshee. She sunk to her knees, rabidly clawing at her neck as the greatest pain she had ever felt in her life suddenly seemed to burn her flesh down to the bone.

_"H-Harry...? He's... so angry!"_

Harry rubbed his scar. She felt his pain.

The curtains were drawn tight and Hermione curled herself into a ball of emotions. How? How could it have been so bad, all along, and no one had ever known about it? Her body trembled with the knowledge as much as with the blinding pain.

The only possible conclusion was that all along Harry had been a figure of myth, stories, and legend hiding amongst them in broad daylight. His curse burned like a tremulous poisoned wound gouged down into the bone and beyond. But the sickening part about it was that he no longer even _noticed it! _She could feel it in his thoughts, and mannerisms. All along he'd been bearing a pain none of them had even realized. So great that she could barely stand it! Yet so small that he did not even _feel it!__  
_

"It hurts... Harry it _hurts_." She mewled weakly, knowing he felt the exact same pain. He'd _always_ felt it. And yet it was so much more than she'd ever been led to believe.

"How do you stand it...? _How do you always stand it?_" She wailed, unaware of Ron's arms cradling her. Tears trailed down the sides of her cheeks.

Someone had taken off out of the portrait hole dashing for the medical wing.

"H-Harry! What's wrong with her? Harry, do something!" Ron yelled frantically.

Harry shook his head sadly and knelt down next to his best friends. Gently, he laid a hand on Hermione's neck.

Somehow... it did feel a bit better. The pain eased. Just a little. But with the ease came thought, and she couldn't help but_ feel._ Deep in the darkest corners of her mind she thought she could hear a voice. A dark sinister tongue that grated like grinding steel. The voice was screaming but it felt so distant it could've been a whisper.

"_Must be Dumbledore... Fudge couldn't have... Crucio!"_

She wept harder. Whimpered. She was terrified.

"_Harry... please help me..."_

"_Oh god, I'm so sorry Hermione. I'm so... so sorry." _

* * *

The room was quiet. No one wanted to say anything as Harry and Ron lifted Hermione and brought her to the couch. The occupants vacated it quickly for them, allowing them to lay the sweating girl down. Gryffindors all around layed eyes on the second lightning bolt scar on her neck. They watched as trail of blood sunk down Harry's face and was ignored in favor of caring for his friend.

They watched as she cried. And could do nothing.

No Gryffindor left the common room that night without the certainty in their hearts that You-Know-Who had returned. And that they needed to be ready.

* * *

**End Chapter  
Author's Notes:**

Special thanks goes out to JaiRose and Fantasyra as both were an amazing help in writing this new chapter. I hope its up to the same quality as the previous once, though I feel its even better.

Please leave a review! Spent a month writing this beast of a chapter and I'd love to have your precious feedback. Or just knowing that you enjoyed the story would be enough.

Till Next!  
MB


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